I've Seen Hell
by CeffylGwyn
Summary: It is said that Thorin Oakenshield, one of the mighty dwarven kings of old; is buried deep under the Lonely Mountain. Tales tell of the Great Age he lived in, but for many, including Hlífhrím, a young dwarf-woman from the Longbeard clan; these are just myths and legends - small glimmers of hope in a world growing ever darker. For this is the Fifth Age and Middle-Earth has changed.
1. Prologue

_"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in" - Leonard Cohen_

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The end of the Third Age was a time filled with uncertainty, and yet marked by a number of acts of great courage and humility. It was the time, when Hobbits, or Shirefolk as they are sometimes known, (Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee; as well as Peregrin Took and Meriadock Brandybuck are several of note) slowly made their mark on the fate of Arda.

The Fourth Age, as the Third, and Second did before it, began with a sense of hope. The War of the Ring was won - the Ring destroyed and the Dark Lord Sauron with it. King Aragorn Elessar, and his wife Arwen Undomiel of the elves, were crowned King and Queen of Gondor; Gandalf, who had once been Grey and became White passed over into the West with the elves. The fair folk began to all but disappear from Middle-Earth; and for three and a half, thousand years, Arda was at peace.

There was of course, in that time, a number of conflicts and wars, but at the end of all things, there was happiness within the hearts of the people of Middle-earth. However, things change; and slowly, as the Fourth Age progressed, there was a subtle shift in power. None were quite sure how it happened, but the mightiest cities of Middle-Earth began to crumble. From the inside. Kings and Queens reverted back to the old ways - full of lust for power; and with no regard of the lessons learned by their forefathers. For that is ever the way of the world.

In the last two-hundred years of the Fourth Age, a great host came from the East - full of righteous anger and revenge directed at the people of Middle-Earth. An army filled with every nameable creature that had ever found itself 'wronged' by their hand - Orcs, Goblins, Ologi-hai (trolls bred to move in daylight), Easterlings and more poured through Rhún and what was once Mordor. From the South, rose the Haradrium and men of Umbar.

The people of Middle-Earth stood no chance. No help came from the elves - they had all faded, or gone into the West. The once-mighty kingdoms of men - Gondor, and Rohan; fell almost without a second thought. Those that were captured were forced into submission and life as slaves. Even the Dwarves, for all their stoutness were either captured or killed.

There were the lucky few however, that escaped this initial assault. Those that remembered the tales of old and who had stood true to the legends of their ancestors. Men from Rohan, and Gondor fled into the West. There, they united with any refugees from the Dwarven kingdoms (few that they were) and stood against the Eastern army along the line of the Grey Mountains.

The wounds from such a war ran deeper than any could imagine, and both sides came away bloodied; more-so than they cared to admit. What followed could be called a truce (not that either side officially recognised it as such); the free peoples of Middle-Earth inhabited the West of the Grey Mountains; and the Easterlings - the East. It was around this time, that one of the last children of full blooded Dwarven descent was born - Durin VII; and it was he who felt most keenly, the suffering of his brethren in the mines of the Easterlings.

By the time the Fifth Age began, for many that toiled in the East of Middle-Earth; freedom was only a memory. But, as it was said once before, some things that should not have been forgotten were lost and hope slowly began to fade. But even the smallest person can change the course of the future, and hope is never lost so long as there is one to carry the flame burning.

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Hlífhrím couldn't help the groan that escaped her throat as she set the heavy bag from her back on the ground in front of her. She blinked, unused to the light coming from the entrance of the caves, when suddenly, she felt the stinging lash of a Goblin-whip cut across the length of her face. Roughly, she was jerked to her feet and held by her hair close to the face of one of the guards. _Ugly things they were,_ she thought with dull humor.

"You, dwarf! Tired are yeh'?" It spat, pointed teeth gnashing close to her ear, Hlífrím almost retched at the smell of it's stinking breath, but managed to remain as still as she could. It didn't pay to aggravate their keepers - the slaves had learned that long ago.

"No Sir!" she squeaked; and roughly, the guard pushed her back the way she had come - down towards the mines.

"Well then get a move on!" he roared, cracking his whip at her heels as Hlífrím fled back down, further into the darkness. She was still breathing heavily when she reached her grumpy mining partner Geir. The old dwarf turned his one good eye on her and grunted; before resuming whatever it was he was doing. A dwarf never, ever went down a shaft alone, they always went in pairs - so that if one fell, the other would be able to hoist them to safety. Mining was a dangerous job, as their overlords had realised upon sending down human slaves to try and do a dwarf's work.

The mines, especially in the deep places were no place for a human, and many a slave perished in the darkness in the the early years. Deftly, Hlífhrím tied the rope around herself and waited for Geir to give her the signal to drop. When he did, she hoisted her pick over her shoulder and swung herself over the edge of the precipice; beginning the descent into the depths of the Lonely Mountain.

Hlífhrím had always loved the feeling of freedom she got, abseiling down the cliffsides within the mountain. It was the only place where she was able to fully relax - despite the fact that it was dangerous, and ruled over by Orcs and Goblins. When she finally stopped her descent - who knew how far down, Hlífhrím tugged on the rope once to let Greir know she was fine; and got to work. The Goblins demanded iron, gold and mithril for their fires, and that was what was given.

She had not been down for over an hour, her bag barely full, when there was a rumbling sound from the stone in front of her. Quickly she looked around for another miner, and spotted one, several meters above her head. Hlífhrím tried to reach him (there was always safety in numbers) but only just managed to press herself to the wall of the cavern, before rocks began to fall - dragging her down with them.

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**A/N: Well hello dear readers! Yes...I couldn't help myself, I had to start a new story...even though I have several others to complete as it is! This (horrible, rabid, inspiring) little plot bunny has been bouncing around in my head for a while now, and well, it was starting to give me a headache so I figured I'd better get it out there ;)**

**Please note, a) this is going to be a darkish story, and b) that if you haven't read the Hobbit...this story may spoil the ending for you :P Also this is set a long time after the events of LotR, in the beginning of the Fifth Age - and as such, a large portion may divulge into non-cannon because Tolkien never wrote that far.**

**Any research or added notes (and thanks!) will be here at the bottom!**

**Title of this fic is from a song in the soundtrack of BBC North and South (Which Richard Armitage is also in)...and it's brilliant! Only music, no lyrics, but very moving all the same :) The quote at the top is basically the 'slogan' or 'motto' for this story, and I think it's rather clever ;)**

**Hlífhrím: Frost Shield**

**Geir: Spear**

**Reviews are very much appreciated! :)**


	2. Waking Dreams

_"Where are we going mama?" a very young Hlífhrim whispered to her mother as she clutched at her skirts; trying to keep up with her much larger strides._

_The woman barely glanced down at her daughter as she picking her up and began walking faster. "To the caves Rín. You remember what we agreed yes?" she said softly, finally looking down at her daughter; who nodded somberly back. "You must be absolutely quiet."_

_"Yes mama." Hlífhrín replied, promptly sticking her small, square thumb in her mouth. For all she was a youngling, she could still feel her mothers fear. It rolled off her in waves just as it did the rest of the dwarves that moved with them, deeper into the caves._

_There was a resounding crunch of rock scraping on rock far behind that echoed over the walls around them; and suddenly everyone was screaming and running. Terrified, Hlífhrín peered over her mothers shoulder as the dwarf-woman followed the crowd and ran deeper into the caves. Her eyes were round orbs of horror as she saw blood and death for the first time in her young life._

_Masses of Goblins streamed into the caves, Easterlings not far behind them. The world blurred and everything became blood and fear and chaos. Her mother was still holding her, sheltering her in her arms as they, and others were backed into a corner of the cave._

_The goblins surrounded them, swords drawn as they leered viciously at the dwarves. Suddenly, an Easterling stepped forward. The only part of their body able to be seen was their eyes; but their voice was clear, and terrible._

_"Your people have fallen," he said, eyes like pieces of cold obsidian. "As of now, you belong to us - you must work for your life. Work to pay off the sins your people have committed against ours since any can remember."_

_Hlífhrín stared at the man, her eyes wide. She wasn't quite sure how a person could belong to someone else, but the way he said it didn't sound very nice at all. Suddenly, an old dwarf stepped forward and Hlífhrín recognised him immediately. It was Mr. Ivar, a nice old dwarf who lived in the home next to hers. Surely he'd make the man much nicer - after all, his permanent good mood always seemed to rub off on everyone._

_"You want us to become slaves!" Ivar said, his normally happy face bright purple in anger. Hlífhrín couldn't help but stare in shock - she had never seen him turn such a colour! "Slaves! We are dwarves, we do not submit!"_

_The man stared cooly at the old dwarf for a moment before nodding once, "Very well" he said calmly, before spinning the spear that had lain forgotten in his hand and jabbing forward with a snarl, embedding it in the white-haired dwarf's body. Hlífhrín turned away quickly, pressing her face into her mothers shoulder. Even with her eyes closed she could still hear his voice; and Ivar's body thump as it hit the floor."Would anyone care to join your brave friend? If you try and fight us - however futile it may be, we will kill you. However, we will kill your children first. Now, decide."_

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Hlífhrím's head was throbbing when she awoke, it felt like she'd been pounded with a hammer. Coughing, she slowly relieved her throat of the grime and dust that had settled there; before looking about her. Dimly, she realised that the rubble surrounding her was the same that had pushed her off her rope.

She should have been dead. Only the tip of the rope; still hanging alongside the cliff was visible several hundred meters above where she lay. Slowly, Hlífhrím moved her fingers and toes; arms and legs - checking that she was in one piece. Except for a few cuts and bruises (she could feel a small scratch on her cheek dribbling blood) everything was alright.

Sighing with relief, Hlífhrím muttered a quick prayer to Mahal the Maker, for his decision to spare her life. Even though many had forgotten the beings who had given them life, she was not one of them. Hlífhrím remembered the stories and took heed.

Her muscles protesting, the red headed dwarf hauled herself to her feet. The pain that ripped through her head was immense and Hlífhrím almost fell as soon as she stood. "Not...Going...To." she muttered fiercely to herself, closing her eyes and letting the pain subside before she opened them once more.

A dull ache settled in the corners of her mind as Hlífhrím looked about her. there were several small rocks scattered about her, and larger ones a little further away. She frowned, rockslides were not common in the mines of the Lonely Mountain. If there was one thing Dwarves did know - it was how to mine - and proper miners knew how to prevent rockslides.

What she saw next made her retch. The other dwarven miner who had been above her was now a bloody mess of raw flesh and bones pinned partially beneath a large jagged rock. Unable to control it any longer, Hlífhrím turned to the side, pressing a shaky palm against the rock face beside her before emptying the contents of her stomach.

She had seen some terrible things in her life, but none could quite compare to the sight of the dead miner. Dimly, as she wiped her mouth on the corner of her tunic and spat out the last of the bile in her mouth, Hlífhrím wondered who he was. She hadn't bothered to check before she'd come down who else was working this quadrant with her.

She would have to check him - figure out who he was, before trying to head back up to Geir. But that could wait - first she needed to side down. As Hlífhrím began to move away from the stink of her own vomit; she noticed for the first time, the ground she was standing on. It wasn't just any old rock, but carefully crafted blocks of stone, her height in width, which snaked off around the corner ahead of her. It was a path. A distinctly Dwarvish path by the look of the craftsmanship.

More than a little startled (after all, upon their takeover, the Goblins, Orcs and Easterlings had destroyed any sign of Dwarvish culture in the depths of the mountains), Hlífhrím warily peered around the rock face to see where it went.

The path went down a little ways, before veering off sharply into the mountain itself. Curious, she decided it would be worth going forward. Something deep inside told her that she was meant to follow the path. In complete wonder, Hlífhrím stood at the entrance of the tunnel and ran her fingers over the smooth arc of stone. There were runes on the columns above her head, but she could barely read them. When she was young, she had begun to learn the language of her people, but war had come to the Lonely Mountain before she could finish her education. As such, the words above her head merely turned into scratches on stone.

With a deep breath, Hlífhrím stepped inside; strangely enough, she was a little afraid, although what there could be down here, within the earth, worth being afraid of she had no idea. She walked in darkness for a time, and slowly as her eyes adjusted, she came to realise that the passage was blocked off just ahead.

Disappointed, Hlífhrím was about to turn around and head back to the grisly task that awaited her; when something caught her eye. A slit of light, filtered down the length of the middle of the blockage, and stunned, she finally realised - it wasn't a blockage at all - it was a door. Runes arced all over the face. And the light, the light meant that this door could lead out into freedom.

Full of purpose, Hlífhrím, strode forward and pressed herself against the rock. She could almost smell the sweet, fresh air coming through the tiny gap. With a growl of determination, she shoved herself against the door, and heaved with all her might. It didn't budge one bit. Again and again Hlífhrím tried to push the door open, until finally, exhausted, she slipped to the ground and rested her forehead against it in defeat.

It had been a long time since she had last cried. Life as a slave had hardened her, until it seemed her heart had become like the stone of the mountain she lived in. But who knew, it might have been the fleeting ray of hope that had been dashed in a moment, perhaps it was the dead miner, lying crushed beneath a rock, finally free of this cursed life; but Hlífhrím knelt, and cried.

With an almighty creak and scrape of stone, as if Mahal himself moved the rock with his bare hands; the doors began to open; and hurriedly, Hlífhrím scrambled to her feet. She was too surprised to wonder exactly how the doors moved on their own, and she had to close her eyes, shielding her face with her arm as light streamed in on her.

Blinking furiously, Hlífhrím slowly lowered her arm, and to her immense disappointment, found that the door hadn't lead outside at all. Instead, it had opened to a small, hexagonal chamber, where in the center lay the figure of a dwarf. "Well that was not exactly what I thought was going to happen." she muttered darkly to herself. But, as usual, her curiosity overcame her disappointment (and sense).

Slowly, and warily, Hlífhrím stepped into the room. She didn't notice the beauty of the patterns carved onto the stone floor and columns, her eyes were trained only on the dwarf in front of her. As she approached, Hlífhrím wrinkled her nose, preparing herself for the smell of death and decay, but it never came. In fact - the dwarf looked exceedingly well preserved, almost as if he was untouched.

Frowning, Hlífhrím peered down at the dwarf and studied him. He was tall for a dwarf, that much was sure; and he was dressed in furs a handsome back tunic. Her fingers itched to take his clothes for her own (after all, he didn't need them any more did he?), but she stayed them and continued the study. Not for the first time, Hlífhrím wished that she could read the runes carved into the rock beneath him.

His eyebrows were dark black, as were his beard and hair - oddly though, his beard was cut short. Hlífhrím's eyes narrowed, no dwarf-man in their right mind would cut his beard - even Geir had a long beard. Her own lack of beard was something of a joke amongst the other dwarf-slaves, and she was a woman. He was quite handsome all in all, and to her surprise (and chagrin), she found herself wondering what his eyes looked like. Shaking her head at her own silliness, Hlífhrím looked away.

It was the objects that were cradled in the dwarf's hands that really caught her attention. The first was a great blade, sheathed in it's scabbard resting in his right hand, but the second - the second made Hlífhrím's eyes widen. It was a stone - the most beautiful she had ever seen in all her years. It was blue more blue than a sapphire, and yet, a host of other colours as well. It was deeper and more reflective than any diamond that she had ever seen.

Hlífhrím could almost hear it call to her, whispering in the still air. Not taking her eyes off the stone, she slowly reached out her hand to take it. Just as she lifted it up off the dead dwarf's chest, the walls around her rumbled, and shook. Quickly, she looked up, as dust and small rocks fell about them; and she stood completely still until it passed. Hlífhrím sighed with relief when the room stilled, and went to move away, when suddenly, her hand was grasped in an iron grip.

Hlífhrím bit back a scream as she peered up into the stormy grey eyes of what was once a dead man. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." he said calmly, yet coldly, and she was sure in that moment that she was either dreaming, dead, or completely insane.

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**A/N: Hello everyone! Well here's chapter two! I have posted a link to a picture of Hlífhrím on my profile page if anyone is interested in seeing how I envisage her. Also, thanks to _mcgonagiggles_ having the foresight to ask - Hlífhrím is pronounced huh-leef-huh-rim with the 'huh' part sounding like air expelled from the lungs. :)**

**'Mahal the Maker' is what the Dwarves call Aulë, the Valar who created them.**

**Big thank you to _L.C. Doyle , Shadow fang the black wolf, LadyDunla,_ and _Gillette-x_ for reviewing; as well as all of you that favourited and followed :)**

**_(Gillette-x: Thankyou so much for reviewin__g! I'm glad you liked the start and I hope you continue to enjoy it! :))_**

**Reviews are much appreciated! :)**


	3. Questions With No Answers

"Drop it now woman, before I make you." The dwarf growled, his eyes flashing dangerously. Hlífhrím stared back in horror, her mouth agape; and when she didn't immediately respond, he squeezed her wrist a little harder. She suddenly dropped the stone (which seemed to have dimmed somewhat) as if it burned her hands and wrenched herself out of his grip, stumbling back into one of the columns.

Her eyes wide, Hlífhrím watched as the dwarf-who-was-once-dead-but-now-living studied her warily, slipping the stone beneath his tunic. "You...you're alive?" she managed to stammer out, her mind whirling as she tried to sort everything into it's proper order. She had meant it as a statement, but somehow, those few words had ended in a question.

"Why would I not be?" the dwarf asked darkly, his gaze cold and regal. Slowly, he slid to his feet beside the stone table he had been resting on. His body tense, he leaned back - letting the table support him as he turned to her, "I am Thorin, son of Thráin; King Under the Mountain. Why are you here?"

It is fair to say, that her mouth dropped open at that. Hlífhrím's mouth went dry, her mind was doing somersaults, and she began to feel distinctly ill. "Thorin - as in, Thorin Oakenshield; who took part in the Battle of the Five Armies?" she murmured to herself, a bit light headed. With a groan, she slid to the ground and rested her head between her raised knees. It was too much; all too much. "This cannot be happening." she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut tight and willing herself to wake up.

Hlífhrím could still hear him shifting around several feet in front of her; banishing any thought that she might be dreaming. Taking a deep breath, she spoke once more, "What magic is this?!" she said suddenly, jerking herself upwards and to her feet. "How are you here? What have you come for? Are you a spirit or ghost?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed at her sudden outburst; she realised a second afterwards that he- this spirit/thing/whatever he was; was in fact a King from generations past - obviously not used to being accosted as such; especially by someone like her. "I am no ghost!" he snapped back, his eyes angry thunderclouds, "This is no magic, and I would have you tell me why YOU are here."

Hlífhrím winced, the last thing she wished to do was anger him unnecessarily; hence, she attempted her first method of approach, "Where do you believe 'here' to be?" she said slowly, stepping closer to Thorin, palms face out so that he would know she meant no harm. She had had to do this a number of times with others in the past and so far it had seemed to work; he however, simply glared at her as if he knew she was trying to placate him. "What do you remember?"

"'Here' would be Erebor. Do not patronise me woman." Thorin scoffed, before looking down at the sword in his hand, a frown marring his features and showing a gleam of confusion; "Orcrist..." he mumbled; his eyes fading into a far off look; "I remember the Battle; my nephews falling before me...Bilbo... then darkness." Quickly, Thorin's eyes snapped back into focus; "Who are you; and why-how are you here? How did my sword come to be here with me? It was left in the Elvenking's halls. Why am I in this chamber instead of my own? It looks and feels like a tomb. You will tell me now." he ended, eyes stony and commanding a reply.

Hlífhrím sighed and rubbed a grubby hand over her eyes, she made a face as she felt the cut on her cheek sting. This was all she needed, a million questions from a resurrected dwarf. "That is because it IS a tomb - your tomb." she snapped matter-of-factly, deciding the straight-out, blunt approach would be the best. She had lost all patience about five minutes ago; and at this point she wouldn't have cared if it were Mahal himself that stood before her; "You have been dead for a very long time in fact; and it just so happens that on the worst day I have experienced in ninety-six years, YOU just so happen to wake up. Feel free to explain it to me, if you don't mind; because I am lost here, and have even less of an idea than you what is going on!"

"Dead?" Thorin scoffed once more, his eyes sparkling dangerously as he stepped towards her (seemingly, he had found his strength), "I told you not to play me; do you take me for a fool woman?"

Hlífhrím glared at him in reply and was about to snap back when suddenly, the walls quaked around them once more. Quickly, she shrank back into the column next to her to avoid being struck by any stray stones. Hlífhrím could feel more dust and debris settle on the tips of her hair and so she shook her head. Her russet red dreadlocks swung from side to side as she watched the particles catch in the still air and slowly drift to the ground.

"The mountain is dying," she murmured, eyes travelling back, to meet the lost-King's. "Tell me you can cannot feel it. Look me in the eye and say I lie."

He studied her, but made no move or sound for some time; just when Hlífhrím had given up hope of him replying, Thorin spoke up; "You say I was dead - have been for many years." he said, and she still caught the note of disdain in his voice, "Tell me then, what year it is now?"

Hlífhrím hesitated; there was a highly remote chance of him believing her - she could tell from the look on his face; but she decided then and there that truthfulness was the best option. She drew herself upwards and took a deep breath, "I am Hlífhrím, of the Longbeard Clan, daughter of Nannulf the Brave, and his wife Thyra." she said; looking the other dwarf in the eye. "This is the twenty-sixth year, of the Fifth Age."

Thorin's eyes widened; "You jest with me, and your humor is off." he said, voice deepening into a growl. Hlífhrím sighed, she had known he would doubt her. Suddenly, like a flash of lightening she thought of something that could make him believe her.

"There, look behind you at the table." she said, a little too eagerly, and the other dwarf glared at her. "The runes - they would tell you the story would they not?"

The once-king studied her long and hard, before moving to look down at the runes; "One wrong move and I will not hesitate in killing you." he said, shooting her a dangerous look, "Do not think to ambush me."

Hlífhrím stared at him, a little put out. Where was the gallant and noble hero that featured in all the stories she had been told? The dwarf before her was coarse, bordering on rude and not remotely what she had pictured him like. He projected regality that was true, but that had to be the only attractive quality he had displayed so far. The stories and legends of the past were what had kept her sane all these years; and to find they had deviated so much from the truth was more than a little crushing.

Thorin did not speak for some time, he just kneeled there before the tablet that had once held him up; and as usual, her curiosity overwhelmed her sense. "King Thorin...My Lord?" she whispered timidly, stepping up behind him and trying to see what had captured his attention so. "What-" her next words were cut off as the dwarf whirled and loomed above her.

Hlífhrím squeaked and stumbled backwards, almost tripping over her own feet. "How is this true? What happened?" Thorin roared, appearing to grow even taller in his rage. She only just caught the faint ghost of sadness in his eyes before it cloaked itself in fury and disbelief, "Answer me!" he grasped her around the tops of her arms before giving her a shake.

"I don't know!" Hlífhrím gasped out, wincing as his fingers curled over a fresh bruise. He must have seen a flash of pain in her eyes or something, because he loosened his hold on her a little, "I just touched the stone - the one lying on your chest and you woke up!"

Thorin frowned, letting go of one arm to reach under his tunic and pull out the glittering jewel. "I woke when you touched this?" he asked sharply, and Hlífhrím nodded. Finally, realisation dawned on her.

"The Arkenstone - Heart of the Mountain." Hlífhrím breathed out, staring at the stone in wonder. No wonder it had appeared so unusual; there had been none quite like it in the history of middle-earth. And it had called to her. Her of all those left.

Thorin seemed to notice her interest and drew his hand further away from her. "Why did you touch it?" he asked, eyes intent on her face, as if searching for any sign of a lie.

"It...it called to me." Hlífhrím replied, her gaze flickering between him, and the stone, "Called for me to touch - take it. To hold it in my hand."

Thorin frowned and released her, tucking the stone away into his tunic once more. For some reason, it saddened her to see it disappear beneath the folds of his clothes. "I must know more about this," he muttered, almost to himself, before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Hlífhrím asked, beginning to follow him.

"To find the answers to this riddle," he replied, not even throwing a glance back over his shoulder at her as he strode out, "Surely there is someone here who would know."

"No...you can't...stop!" Hlífhrím called desperately, but the dwarf who was once the King completely ignored her, and she began to panic "I said STOP!" she yelled, pulling him back by the arm.

Thorin whirled on her furiously, "Who are you to tell me to stop?" he growled, eyes flashing angrily. Hlífhrím stepped back but steeled her resolve and stood her ground. "I am King Under the Mountain, a right, and title I fought, and apparently, died for."

"You may have been King Under the Mountain three thousand years ago, Thorin Oakenshield; but this is your Age no longer, so do not presume to know what life is like here!" Hlífhrím said forcefully, desperate to stop him from leaving the present safety of the tomb. She could almost see it in her head - he, ignorant of the way of things, walking up the inside of the mountain, only to be slaughtered by a horde of vengeful goblins at the crest of the caves. The way things were going, if he were to walk out of the room, he was going to kill himself, and her as well. "Come back - there is much you need, and do not, know." she could see him considering her words and pushed on doggedly, "It is important. You do not think I choose to look like I do by choice do you?"

Her self-depreciating humor caught his attention and he looked at her - this time however, seemingly taking note of her tattered clothes, minor injuries and overall dirtiness. "Are we at war?" Thorin asked curtly, and seemed startled when Hlífhrím let out a bark of laughter.

"We are beyond war, Thorin Oakenshield. It has come and gone, and I am one of the sad remnants that are left." she replied sourly, before turning, walking back to the wall and sliding ungracefully to the ground. "Come back and I will tell you everything you would know. You will not like it, but it is necessary."

Hlífhrím almost thought for a second that he would ignore her, but Thorin took one look out into the tunnel, before walking back and seating himself a safe distance away from her. "Begin."

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**A/N: Well this chapter was harder write than I expected (hence why it took so long to get out). Hopefully, Thorin wasn't OOC (it's always hard to know how a person will react in one of these situations).**

**Thanks so much to L.C. Doyle, Shadow fang the black wolf, FromTheAshMeadow, LadyDunla, LSM, Gillette-x, and blackestnight10 for reviewing - you're all wonderful! Thanks also to anyone who followed/favourited; your support is also much appreciated! :)**

_**(Gillette-X: Thank you! I always like showing parts of a character's past. I think it helps define who they are as a person to the reader. Nawww thank you! I'm glad you think so! I do struggle sometimes! Sorry it took me so long to get this out! Thanks so much for your review! :) )**_

_**(LSM: Thanks, I do adore cliffhangers ;) ...Unless I'm reading someone else's work! I'm glad you're liking it! Thanks so much for your review! :) )**_

**As A Side Note: I forgot to mention before; that Tolkien was fairly ambiguous ****in his writings **regarding the exact length of the ages. As, according to him, this world was a 'mythological' history of our earth, he at one point stated that we were in the 7th age. However, there is much debate about that fact, and some think that we are in fact, in the 5th Age. For the purposes of this story, I have used a small amount of creative lee-way in this so called 'grey area' and have decided as such, that we are in the 7th age AT LEAST. (Just letting you know)

**Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear what you all have to say! :)**


	4. Difficult Decisions

Hlífhrím shifted her seat against the wall nervously as she tried to figure out what exactly it was she was trying to do. How on earth was she supposed to tell a dwarf who was supposed to be dead; that his people - their people; had slowly begun to decline since the days he had walked Middle-Earth.

"I am not the best to remember all the stories we were told as younglings; yet I will do the best I can." Hlífhrím said, her eyes downcast. Quickly, she looked up the meet the Dwarf-King's steely gaze; "So I must ask you; where you would like me to begin?"

She watched as one dark brow lifted and Thorin spoke; "I think it best you begin with why I should be sitting here and listening to you; when I could be getting answers from someone with more confidence in their knowledge." he replied harshly; causing her to blush in embarrassment. "Up, amongst the sages of Erebor."

Well he really was a prickly old sod wasn't he. "Because Erebor is no longer there." Hlífhrím replied softly, but firmly. Staring the once-king directly in the eye. "You would find no sages, no great halls, and no Dwarven king if you ventured up into the mountain above us. You would find only mines, and despair."

Thorin stared at her in what could only be called a mixture of shock, pain and disbelief; "Explain." He growled through gritted teeth; and for the first time, Hlífhrím felt pity for him. There was no way in her mind that she could even remotely relate to what was happening to him.

"Between the three-thousand and sixty-eighth and the three-thousand and seventieth year of the Fourth Age, the Dwarven kingdoms that existed in the Iron Hills, Mordor and Erebor were all lost." Hlífhrím said forcing down the ball of sadness that had settled in her stomach. She pointed in the direction of the open door for emphasis "If you were to walk out of that door and up to what was once Erebor; you would be dead in a heart-beat; looking like you do."

The male dwarf's eyes flashed in annoyance at her comment, "And why-so would that be exactly?" Thorin asked curtly; a mocking edge to his tone, "If what you say is true and Erebor is lost; then how are you here? Who has managed to breach our defenses once more?"

Hlífhrím simply glared at him; of course she pitied him; but she grew tired of his attitude, "Because number one; you're too clean, they'd get suspicious; and two, you are so damned full of righteous self-importance that they would smell your airs and graces from a mile away." she snapped, eyes flashing. "What is left of the population of Erebor; and I am sure; the rest of Middle-Earth, East of the Grey Mountains are all laborers; slaves to Orcs and Easterlings; our Lords and masters for the last eighty-odd years. So you may continue to look down your nose at me Master Oakenshield; but I am tired of you treating me with such disrespect and thinly veiled distrust; like I am some silly chit; when all I want to do is help you!"

Thorin's eyes narrowed; "You lie!" he snarled, dragging himself to his feet and visibly tensing across from her.

"What reason would I possibly have to lie?" Hlífhrím snapped straight back; scrabbling to her own feet and refusing to be intimidated, "You say I tell an untruth; but I had seen ten summers when Erebor fell. I watched the death and destruction unfold before me."

"We are dwarves!" The Dwarven king of old growled; his eyes narrowing to slits, "Our people; made by Mahal himself; are unable to be dominated. So either; you are lying - or you are a traitor." With that; Thorin shifted his hand, which had been resting on the pommel of his weapon; and pulled the sword from it's scabbard with a hiss.

Hlífhrím stared at him in shock for a minute before she deflated; "And; now you would kill me." she said in a deadpan voice. In all the ways she had ever imagined her death to occur; it was not in this way. Suddenly; something previously forgotten was recalled to mind; "So be it. At least it would be quick - there are far worse ways to die. However I have a job to do first. In respect to the dead."

With that; Hlífhrím turned and strode from the room - not so fast as to make it seem like she was running; but fast enough to put a fair amount of distance between her and the great Thorin Oakenshield.

* * *

It was simply all too much. There were some things in life that were just not meant to occur. The dead were not supposed to suddenly live again; and dwarves were not meant to be slaves. Thorin knew this in his heart. What this woman told him went against everything he had ever believed; and yet, he saw the unblemished truth in her green eyes. He knew that there was no logical possibility that he had slept for two thousand years - dead in a tomb; only to suddenly awake when this dwarf touched a stone - a simple gem. Yet doubt still niggled at the corners of his mind; faint memories that slowly lifted from the grey cloud inside his head.

No matter how much he denied it to himself or anyone - something told him that he had died that day in the aftermath of the Great Battle; and the thought scared him more than he cared to admit. There were too many unanswered questions that plagued him and for the first time in his life; Thorin could feel himself slipping into the clutches of unrecoverable fear. One that he could not overcome easily. That is why he had threatened her. It was far easier for him to threaten and posture than it was to admit his terror about what lay beyond the walls of the tomb he stood in - his tomb.

Watching her storm away from him; Thorin had regretted his temper almost immediately. His regret did not mean he trusted her - this dwarf Hlífhrím; no; too many years of suspicion had left him unable to trust anyone from their first meeting. What he did regret was that his fear had bubbled; come to the surface and made him weak. Weakness and the blood of Kings was not a good mixture. Gritting his teeth in annoyance; Thorin steeled his nerves and stalked after her; his customary frown in place once more.

* * *

As Hlífhrím rounded the corner back into the main cavern whence she had come; she caught sight of Thorin Oakenshield trailing several meters behind her. It shouldn't have surprised her; that he was there, but it did. She had almost expected him to either kill her on the spot or stay put - not follow her there and for a moment Hlífhrím was actually gladdened. Another live presence would make the hard task at hand slightly easier to bear (then she remembered who the 'live presence' was and immediately dismissed the thought).

She gagged and almost threw up again when she saw the mutilated body of the other miner; once again. Hlífhrím stopped in her tracks; composing herself before she stepped into the cavern. "You may want to stay where you are." she said over her shoulder at the approaching Thorin, "It is not a pretty sight to behold."

Then she ignored him and focused on the task at hand. Carefully; Hlífhrím picked her way around the rocks to reach the dead dwarf; closing her eyes and swallowing hard when she got closer. Then; she shifted her concentration to the rock, rather than the body underneath it. That was easier, and she let out the breath she had been holding as she tried to figure out how to lift it off the miner.

Deciding that to lift it was the best course of action; Hlífhrím made a space for her fingers at the base of the boulder and heaved; the muscles in her arms protesting at the effort. She could almost hear the sickening sound of rock moving off flesh and bone; and she faltered; almost dropping the boulder when suddenly; two strong arms appeared beside her - helping to complete the macabre job. Panting a little; Hlífhrím nodded her thanks to the other dwarf.

"How?" the once-king asked simply; as he worked beside her; moving smaller rocks away from the body.

Hlífhrím sighed as she worked; "Rock slide." she mumbled; not offering any further explanation. They finished quickly and quietly after that; clearing the body of rubble and shale. She had to alter her decision. Perhaps he wasn't quite so rude and uncaring after all.

When they stood back and looked down at the miner; it was Thorin who spoke first. "Did you know him?" he asked; his deep voice rumbling through her. She sighed; and pulled off the dead dwarf's coat; crossing his hand's across his chest and laying the tunic over his body.

"No. I did not even know anyone else was working this quadrant. He just appeared out of no where." Hlífhrím said standing back up straight once more; frowning up into the darkness above them. She cursed when she noticed the end of the rope was missing - Geir must have pulled it back up; thinking she had fallen to her death. _ How are things going to work now?_ Hlífhrím sighed to herself; eyeing the tall dwarf next to her; _Prince McBroodypants over here would never pass as one of the others_.

She knew she couldn't leave him there; she never would have; no-matter how cantankerous he was; but taking him up with her posed and even greater issue. "You have two options; either you can come with me. Or you stay here. Your decision" Hlífhrím said seriously; turning to the tall dwarf beside her; "But if you choose to come with me; you have to do exactly as I say and follow my lead."

Thorin was silent for a few minutes as he considered her options. It actually seemed as if he were having an internal war with himself. "I will come with you." he said finally; his tone resigned; "and I will do as you say."

"Swear it." Hlífhrím said stubbornly; her eyes narrowing at him. It wouldn't work if he just said 'yes' then managed to get everyone around him killed through his arrogant, haughty.

"So be it. I swear it." Thorin growled in annoyance; startling her and cutting off her train of thought. He obviously caught her look of disbelief; and the ex-King glared at her, "I, Thorin Oakenshield; who was once King Under The Mountain; do so swear on my honour as a member of the line of Durin that I will do as you say. Are you satisfied?"

Hlífhrím smiled sweetly at Thorin when he completed his oath and just stood there glowering down at her. "Quite satisfied." she said; trying very hard to keep the smugness out of her voice. Slowly; her face became sombre when she thought of the task ahead. "Now; you're going to have to do a couple of things before we begin to climb."

The tall dwarf raised his eyebrows at her; "And what would they be?" Thorin asked sardonically.

Hlífhrím; cocked her head to the side and looked up at him beneath her eyelashes, a sly smile forming over her lips; "Well, first of all; you're going to have to take your tunic off."

* * *

**A/N: Well, first things first; I nicked the title 'Prince McBroodypants' for Thorin off a tumblr picture. I laughed so hard when I saw it that I had to add it in here. So if, by some weird co-incidence whoever came up with that reads this little story...I take my hat off to you and your sheer brilliance.**

**Just FYI; this will be turning into a weekly update - so every Wednesday you can expect a chapter from me for this fic.**

**A huge thank you to everyone that followed/favourited/reviewed the last chapter. Especially _LadyDunla_; _Valandhir_; _harrylee94_; _IdaMarie00_; _Shadow fang the black wolf_; _Celtic Elvish Maid_; _SvnNightsNEire_; _uno mega_; _Teres_; _L. C. Doyle_ ; _Pirate-Chan_ and my two guests _Guest_ and _PS_ for reviewing. Just...wow. 497 hits in a day? You've gone and blown me away. You're all amazing; and I love hearing what you think! Thank you!**

**Please leave a review! I'd love to know what you all think is going to happen next! I hope you continue to enjoy it as the story begins to unfold. :)**


	5. Ever Upwards

The cavern was dark and silent; stretching endlessly about them. The only sounds to be heard were the faint trickle of water on stone and the clatter of small rocks shifting beneath their feet as they scaled the cliff. Now-dirty hands clutched at the rock face; scrabbling for purchase against the slimy stones. Thorin gritted his teeth as he hoisted himself ever upwards; sucking in a deep breath with the effort.

The woman Hlífhrím was climbing above him, a little to the right; surging up the rock like it was the easiest thing in the world. Even when he was young he had never climbed like that; indeed; he had never had much interest at all in the rocks beneath the earth - swords, battles and princely duties drawing his attention from the mines. Thorin's eyes narrowed as he stared at her and he huffed; there was something distinctly un-dwarvish about her. For one of the Longbeard's (as she claimed to be) she had no beard to speak of. It was altogether unsettling - a dwarf woman without a beard.

_"Well, first of all; you're going to have to take your tunic off."_

_Thorin glared at Hlífhrím; attempting to figure out whether she was serious. To his mortification, she was, "That is out of the question." he growled in reply._

_The female dwarf raised her eyebrows at him (she seemed to have a habit of that). "What happened to 'swearing on your honour as a King' that you'd do as I say?" Hlífhrím said testily; crossing her arms over her chest, "Tunic. Off."_

Thorin shook his head in annoyance as he reached to the rock ahead of him for another handhold. The requests - no - commands; had only gotten more bizarre and uncomfortable after that. By the time they had even begun to climb; his tunic had several holes in it; he had been dirtied, scratched, and had dust poured all over him (the latter of which was sticking uncomfortably to his hair and inside his clothes). In all honesty; even on the quest to Erebor, Thorin could not remember looking so foul.

Hlífhrím hauled herself up onto a small ledge above him and turned back over the ledge. Silently, she offered a hand to help him up; but Thorin ignored it, heaving himself up beside her with a grunt. He had already shown weakness to her with his fear at the truth of her words; he would not show another. He could help himself up.

* * *

Hlífhrím sighed as the other dwarf clambered (rather ungracefully she might add) up beside her. _Males and asking for help_; she grumbled; her pride stung. Quickly, she dusted her grubby hands off on the side of her tunic as if the rejection meant nothing. She stole a look upwards towards the flickering lights of torches far above their head. The air was slowly becoming fouler; rank with the stench of Goblins; death and decay.

"Not far to go now." Hlífhrím said, glancing over to Thorin who was wheezing a little next to her (apparently, over three-thousand years of sleep-death left one physically less able); although he tried hard not to show it. "You remember all I have told you?"

Thorin stared at her contemptuously. "We fell - it was lucky we survived; I was unconscious - I do not remember anything." he listed her instructions in a droning voice. "Am I correct?"

Hlífhrím rolled her eyes at his cockiness; "Partially so - I trust you remember how to act as I said?" she said sardonically; "Since your memory is so fandangled brilliant."

"I am too tall - hence I must stoop more. I am to look defeated;" Thorin replied; his eyes flashing - obviously completely disgusted with the idea. "Never look a Goblin or Easterling in the eye - eyes down at all times; and most importantly; whatever they do, no fighting back."

He spat the last part out like it was something vile and Hlífhrím patted his arm awkwardly; as if he were a youngling. It had taken a lot, but she had managed to make him leave his sword behind in the tomb; "Just keep your head low and all will be well." she said wisely; trying to offer some means of comfort.

But the King of Old shook her hand off and glared down his nose at her; "All would be well if I were not here to witness this." Thorin spat before reaching up and grabbing into a rock to begin climbing once more; "Now let's move."

* * *

Geir watched the mine entrance warily with his one good eye; waiting for their goblin guards to collect them. The rumbling of the mountain had alerted him to the rock slide, but he had been too late to warn Hlífhrím of the danger. He had held on for grim death but felt the rope go slack soon after. The broken end of the rope he pulled up hurt him more than he cared to admit.

It did not serve one well to get close to their mining partner; the work was dangerous and death circled them all like a shroud. Geir cursed himself for getting attached to the young female dwarf - he could still feel himself clinging to the hope that she had survived the fall and was making her way back up the cliff now. But it had been hours now; their guards would come in and do a head count; and Hlífhrím would still not have returned. It was time to accept the cold hard truth.

"Geir!" the hissed whisper caused the old dwarf to turn and see Ivarr; another one of their faction; gesturing wildly towards the cliff edge that signified the start of the mines. One arm had appeared over the precipice; and dirty red dreadlocks followed. Perhaps he had not given the girl enough credit for her fortitude.

Her green eyes looked tired (but then again who's wouldn't after surviving a rock slide?) and there was a dried cut running along the length of her cheek; but other than that, she didn't look too badly harmed. Geir's eyes narrowed as he noticed the other large figure hauling himself up behind her; all the rest of their faction were so far accounted for.

"Rín!" Nannulf, the youngest of their faction (having seen barely twenty-five years) called out happily; running towards her. A loud 'oof' was pushed from her lips when he collided with her; and the red haired dwarf visibly staggered backwards with the unexpected weight.

The tall, dark-haired dwarf that had risen from the mines behind her, immediately snapped his arm out behind the pair and held her in place (preventing what could have been a rather messy fall off the side of the cliff she had just managed to climb back up). Geir saw the cold, reproachful glare he gave her and the thankful, but annoyed glance she flashed at him in reply.

The old dwarf turned his attention once more to the stranger and found that he had no knowledge of who he was. There were two main working mines within the Lonely Mountain; and as such, there were two '_warrens'_ of dwarves. One warren worked the first mine; and the other, the second. Within each warren were twenty '_factions' _of approximately ten members; and last he knew, there had been just over four hundred dwarves in entirety working both mines; the rest of their kinfolk either dead or fled into the West.

Geir had seen many years beneath the mountain; he was already old when it had been taken by the force from the East. Although he did not know each and every dwarf that remained in the Lonely Mountain by name - he knew them by sight; and this tall, dark dwarf he had never seen. Not once.

The other members of their faction crowded around Hlífhrím; asking her questions or patting her to make sure that she was in fact alive and not a ghost. Geir watched as the tall one hung back and watched the proceedings in what could only be called a brooding silence. His dark eyebrows pulled together into a frown as he studied each and every one of them.

The strange dwarf's gaze finally fell on Geir and he stared unflinchingly straight back (or as well as he could with one eye). "Geir." he finally heard a soft voice say; breaking through the silent contest that was taking place. Hlífhrím came up to him slowly; her voice quiet and eyes troubled. "He needs to stay with me. I will explain later; but first, we have to figure out a way to sneak him in without the guards noticing."

Geir grunted at that; "Why can't he go back to his own faction?" he said under his breath so only the girl could hear.

"Because he has none." Hlífhrím replied bluntly; earning her a suspicious look; "You have to trust me. Just figure out a way to get him in; please?"

Geir sighed in defeat and nodded his assent. "We're going back in with factions seven, twelve and three tonight. Three is one dwarf short - one of their's died of the rotting sickness few days back. He'll have to sneak in with their lot and pray to Mahal the guards don't catch him." he said quietly; his one good eye flickering to the black-haired dwarf; watching them suspiciously.

"Is there no way he can stay with us?" Hlífhrím asked; shifting from one foot to the other and casting a nervous glance in the direction of the entrance to the mines. "Will those in Three even allow it?"

Geir looked at her curiously; "The only way that is possible is if this dwarf replaces one of ours." he growled; "And they'll only allow it if there is a very good reason for it Hlífhrím; you know the risks we would all be taking."

"It is important Geir." Hlífhrím replied; looking him straight in the eye. "More important than any could ever imagine; and it's important he stays with me."

There was a seriousness to her voice Geir had never heard before. All the younglings that had been there when the Lonely Mountain had been taken, had had to grow up quickly; but Hlífhrím was one of the few who had managed to retain their optimistic child-like view of the dark world that surrounded them. She always seemed to manage to make the best of things.

"As you wish." he grumbled, thinking to himself, "Baldur seems the only reasonable option for this. The silly fool has always had grandiose ideas of adventure and subterfuge. I'll tell him when he and Ejnar rise; they should appear soon."

A grin twitched at the corner's of Hlífhrím's lips and she sighed in relief; her shoulders visibly slumping. "Thank you," she said quietly, resting a hand on his arm, "my friend."

Geir shrugged as if the small gesture meant little; but he was secretly flattered. "Oh be off with you now and tell your little friend what's to happen;" he said gruffly, before adding as an afterthought as she turned to walk back; "I am pleased you are alright lass...only because would have been harder for all of us to control Nannulf without you here."

Hlífhrím flashed a quick smile in his direction; "Of course;" she said wryly, giving him a wink before returning to the tall dark dwarf (whom the others were all avoiding).

The newcomer was unsettling, he gave off an aura that practically screamed 'intimidating'; he'd be sure to give Rorik a run for his money when he rose from the mines. Geir saw movement from the corner of his eye and promptly headed to where Baldur was rising, Ejnar probably not far behind. He had something important to tell him.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah; it's Saturday, I know :P I accidently wrote 'Updates every Wednesday' last chapter; when in actual fact, it will be every Saturday (yaaaaaay). Also, if you're interested; I've uploaded a link to my profile with a map I've drawn up of Erebor (yes, I was really that bored :P). It'll probably end up being more use to me than you; but it's there anyway. (I drew from images of the exterior of Peter Jackson's Erebor; and the map from 'Battle for Middle Earth II.' PC game as my inspiration so some aspects will be quite similar; especially to the BMEII version.)**

**During the War of the Ring; the Longbeards numbered 30,000 when they held off the Men of Rhun in a siege on the Lonely mountain. They lost approximately 14,000 of their kin. This is just a tidbit of info to show the significant decline of the Dwarvish population from the beginning of the Fourth Age; to the Fifth Age.**

**If you do not understand 'fandangled' - look it up in Urban Dictionary (that site is brilliant - if you're looking for weird definitions for weird words).**

**Just randomly; listening to 'Can't Stop This Thing We Started' by Bryan Adams when writing this chapter (I couldn't help but picture Thorin jumping around with Bryan's guitar - made me laugh so hard! XD)**

**Thanks so much to those that followed/favourited; especially _Shadow fang the black wolf_; _IdaMarie00_; _LadyDunla_; _harrylee94_; _L. C. Doyle_; _blackestnight10_; _Gillette-x_; and _Dereklover89_ for reviewing. You're all the reasons for writing. :)**

**(_Gillette-x: Hello! Your question will most definitely be answered next chapter! ;) There is much he is going to have to learn in order to survive in this new world. Perhaps he'll even stir things up a little ;) Glad you're enjoying it! Thanks so much for your review! :) _)**

**So glad you're all enjoying this story! Please leave a review if you have time (even if it's just one word!) - I love hearing what you all think! :)**


	6. Many Meetings

The soft sounds of pickaxes clanking against stone was cut off abruptly when the horn sounded. A deep black sound that echoed through the halls and passages like a sickly poison fog; blanketing all it touched with trepidation. With the ease that came with long years of (unwanted) practice; the dwarves dropped their pickaxes where they stood and fell into formation - the four factions bunched together in rows of five abreast.

Hlífhrím nervously glanced across at Thorin beside her. Here was the do or die moment. One wrong step and her carefully constructed plans would crumble faster than she could scream for help. Inwardly, she prayed to Mahal that he would help them through this. Make the goblins unaware of the switch. "Remember," she hissed to him "eyes down; do not react to anything that might occur. Become a slave."

Thorin sent an angry glare in her direction - he was tenser than a tightly coiled spring; but he nodded imperceptibly and shifted his eyes ahead. Hlífhrím wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and took a deep breath. The sound of heavy boots echoed into the caves and she could hear the Goblins talking in Black Speech; their shrieking voices growing closer.

The sounds grew louder as several smaller Goblins and Orcs rounded the corner. As_ Snagae _they were a lesser breed, more disposable, and hence, used to do the most unwanted jobs. There were eight that circled the four dwarf factions then; quickly, the eight moved between the rows of dwarves attaching rough manacles to their legs. Snarling and leering at them, they pushed and shoved them towards the cave entrance. Hlífhrím swallowed heavily; trying to quell her nervousness as the factions began to march. That was one of the worst things about those stinking goblins - they could practically smell fear.

"Get on scum! Move yer feet you filthy maggot!" Hlífhrím heard one goblin gnashing it's teeth at one of the older dwarves. She could almost feel the sting of the whip lashing across her own face when it cracked behind her.

Covertly; Hlífhrím glanced across to Thorin and nearly stopped dead when she saw the thunderous look on his face. Slipping him past the Snagae was fine, they were categorically stupid; but the four Morannon Orcs - larger beasts with heightened senses that waited at the doors; would notice his expression straight away.

Working on instinct; Hlífhrím stumbled and bumped into the tall dwarf; shooting him a look that clearly said _remember what I told you. _She had a moment to sigh thankfully when Thorin's grey eyes found hers and his face resumed it's stony mask; before she felt the tails of the whip flicking towards her.

"Faster you wretches! We don't have all day!" The four factions and their Snagae guards finally passed out the doors into the mines into a square shaped room. This was the tricky part. The room was only six meters wide at best; to the right, lay the slave pens where they would spend the night. to the left was another passage that let off further into the depths of the mountain. Since the Lonely Mountain had been overrun, Hlífhrím had spent the entire time in this small section. She had been one of those forced to bury further into the mountains in order to create the slave pens where they were headed.

The Morannon Orcs were an entirely different breed of foul; they were larger than their Snagae cousins; with greater strength and more intelligence. Where the Snagae were simply a nasty rabble; the Morannon were nasty and more adept at following orders. That was; unless there were different tribes put on the same duty...like there was this night.

Goblins and Orcs were almost the same thing as far as Hlífhrím could tell; except that Goblins seemed to maintain a higher pitched shriek; and were more adept at climbing. The two had a fairly simple hierarchical structure in their society that stated one breed was better than the other; and whoever was the best fighter was labelled the leader. When one was considered the leader; that position would not often be held for long as Orcs and Goblins were essentially a violent race and a single spark of anger over a matter of no importance would leave a room full of bodies. Although there were fights within a single tribe for positions of leadership; they most often occurred between those of different clans. She couldn't understand such hate between those of the same species.

Hlífhrím had never seen a female Orc or Goblin; but she had heard rumors around the pen that they existed. Apparently, one could not tell them apart from their male counterparts - they were so alike in features. Somehow, when a female desired a mate, the males would know and immediately begin to fight. The one that was left standing would be her choice. The thought made Hlífhrím shudder. Indeed she had seen several instances where fighting had broken out for seemingly no reason whatsoever. The end result was not something she ever wished to see.

Hlífhrím could immediately tell that those four Orcs standing outside the doors were from different tribes by the way they stood - tall, feet wide apart, and with inherently vicious snarls on their ugly faces (moreso than usual). Apparently the factions had just walked in on the middle of an argument. and the Orcs spared no attention to the dwarves that passed them by; instead eying each other off from across the room

"Factions coming through!" One Snagae spat out, shoving dwarves through; as they bunched together to fit through the tight space. Out of the corner of her eye; Hlífhrím saw one of the Morannon Orcs shove Nannulf away from him when the young dwarf got too close. A few heartbeats later; they were through into the slave pens and she breathed a sigh of relief.

They passed four more factions as they stepped through the doors who were ready to enter the mines and fill their places. The Easterlings had worked out over the years that shifts of workers were the best means of extracting work from their slaves. They were not given much respite from labour; but it was enough (or so the Easterlings thought).

Hlífhrím looked on the slave pens with new eyes this night; as she wondered how they would look to the dwarf next to her. They were a morbid sight, one that she had simply had gotten used to over the years. The cavern had a high ceiling, pocked with the marks of unsuccessful mining. The stone beneath their feet dropped away into thin air and rope bridges crisscrossed the room above six pits; seven meters wide and six meters deep. Open, gaping wounds in the earth, shrouded in shadow.

She could feel Thorin shifting uncomfortably as the four factions walked straight out onto the rickety bridges and stopped. Hlífhrím waited patiently as faction Three was lowered into their pit and then stepped forward with the others as the snagae moved them forwards to their own pit.

"Move it!" Their snaga snapped at them as it nudged one of the faction (it looked like Ása from where she was standing) towards the lift with their whip handle. "Five, all of you get in there!"

Obediently, Hlífhrím and her faction did as they were told and crowded into the creaky little wooden lift. She had to tug Thorin along where her manacle was attached to his - for a moment she thought he would refuse to move. The other dwarves in the faction all glanced suspiciously at the new addition but said nothing as the lift was slowly lowered into the pit.

* * *

Thorin could think of nothing, feel nothing but fury and anguish as he walked with the other dwarves back to their place of rest. He had never felt more degraded in his life than when the Orc-scum attached the manacle to his ankle. The thick iron chaffing his boot and making the slightest movement a weighty task. The only thing that stopped Thorin from jumping to the attack were Hlífhrím's words of warning that such an act by one would mean punishment for the rest of the faction (that and his apparent lack of weaponary).

He had never seen such a rape of the earth as what the slave pens were. Raw, red holes buried into the ground without thought or feeling towards the mountain that housed them. As the lift descended into the pen; Thorin ignored the looks the other dwarves were giving him; instead, deciding to fix a scowl on the pulley that lowered them into the cavity. The lift jerked to a stop, making him grimace when his neck cracked at the sudden movement. Quickly, the faction - as Hlífhrím had called it; which he now seemed to belong to, shuffled off the wood and onto the hard-packed clay beneath them. As the lift rose back up to the level of the walkways; the dwarves turned on him and stared.

Thorin appraised each of them in turn and even though the pit was blackened, he could still make out their features (the eyes of a dwarf being much better for seeing in the dark of caverns than a man's). The first pair was a dwarf man and woman; very similar with dirty-blonde hair and narrow brown eyes like the colour of the earth. The male's beard was a darker blonde than his hair and intricately braided and tucked into his belt. The female's beard was soft and delicate down over her chin - if the time had been his own (and she had not been quite so dirty); she would have caught the eye of many a dwarf. One thing he did notice about the two was how small they were; smaller by far than any dwarf he had ever met.

He heard whispering and; turned his gaze onto the next pair two male dwarves; stout and stocky. One with red hair and beard; and the other with brown. The first eyed him suspiciously and inspected him (quite obviously) from head to toe; gaze roaming over clothes; hair, and finally narrowing on his short beard (something which had not seemed to grow in the three-thousand years of apparent sleep). The second looked him over once, seemingly finding nothing worth being interested in and took two steps back against the wall before sliding to a seat on the floor.

"Who is this Hlífhrím?" another dwarf growled somewhere to his right; "I ask you as it seems you are the only one with any idea of why he is here - where is Baldur?". Immediately, Thorin turned to the sound and faced a dwarf nearly tall as himself; with pale white-blond hair and beard, dirtied by grime. Thorin studied the blonde dwarf intently and green eyes met his stare unflinchingly. Here was a wolf in the guise of a sheep if ever he had seen one and he could tell at once the other dwarf was sizing him up and taking his measure.

While Hlífhrím mumbled something incoherent next to him, the one called Nannulf (who had ploughed into her in the mines) spoke up; "Yes, what is your name Sir?", his voice was distinctly young; causing Thorin to look at him intently. He was no more than a mere boy; not even yet a stripling, and his wide brown eyes looked on him with the same wonder and awe that he had seen in the eyes of his nephews; so many years ago.

It seemed that his introduction was to be sooner than he thought. Thorin inclined his head politely to the young dwarf throwing a contemptuous glance at the pale-haired, tall dwarf; "I am Thorin, son of Thráin." he said when suddenly, one of the others snorted.

Thorin turned a scowl in the direction of the noise; which ended up being a black-haired female dwarf; standing next to the pale-haired one. Her features were sharp and angular; and her beard slightly longer than the other female's and tied in tiny braids. "There is no one of that name here - there has not been a dwarf carrying those names for many years." she said, her eyes cold; "You are a liar."

He was about to angrily respond when Hlífhrím beat him to it; "He does not lie Ása, I know he does not." she snapped at the other dwarf woman; before casting her eyes about the group, "He has given you his name; now it is proper that we give him ours - or would we become rude and foul like those who drive us with their whips and swords?"

There were several mumbles and scowls as Hlífhrím glared at the dwarves around her (to say she had surprised him - and seemingly the others; would have been an understatement). "I am Nannulf." the young dwarf beside his side said suddenly, catching all in surprise at his forwardness.

The old dwarf who had talked to Hlífhrím back in the mines grunted beside the boy. "And I am Geir." he said gruffly, staring intently at him with his one eye - the other, only a sunken eyelid in his skull. "It is odd that you have named your father; Thorin, son of Thráin. We have not done this for many a year, as surely you should know - instead we name our house. Nannulf, and I are of the Longbeard clan."

Thorin nodded but said nothing; so, they were of his people - as it appeared Hlífhrím was (who had forgotten to tell him about this fact regarding names in her seemingly never-ending list of instructions). "You already know my name, and my people." Hlífhrím said with a shrug, before looking to the others across from her with a glare; "So perhaps we should move straight on."

Thorin shifted his gaze in the direction she was looking towards the two blonde dwarves; "I am Vigdis and this is Viljalmar, my brother" The female said abruptly, "We are of the house of Firebeard."

"I wish I could say it was a pleasure; but that would be an untruth." Viljalmar drawled disparagingly; giving a wave of his hand. Thorin got the distinct feeling this one thought better of himself than he was in reality.

Another voice broke him rudely from his thoughts. "I am Ejnar, also of the Firebeard clan." the red haired dwarf suddenly spoke up, giving a mocking bow, his blue eyes skeptical; "and that lout sitting down is Ivarr; of the Longbeard clan."

The brown-haired dwarf simply yawned in response to the other dwarf's statement and closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall; utterly uninterested. Thorin's gaze finally settled on the pale-haired dwarf and the black-haired female. The pair stared at him in contempt; and he only just managed to rein in his temper, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "And your names?" Thorin asked cooly; watching their reactions.

It was the female that finally decided to speak up; "I am Ása, and this is my cousin Rorik." she said haughtily; "We are of the the Broadbeam house."

Thorin raised his eyebrows and said nothing, instead deciding to glare at the one called Rorik. He would show him just how unintimidated he was by the silent display of aggression. The pale-haired dwarf simply stared back cooly. "We should all get some sleep." Rorik suddenly spoke up; eyes never wavering from his own. "We are on second rotation. Tomorrow we work the forges. Be ready Thorin, son of Thráin."

With that; the dwarf turned and settled down against the pit walls, followed by the rest of the faction. Thorin felt Hlífhrím nudge him with her foot and she jerked her head in the direction of a free wall-space. The manacles didn't offer much room to move about; but he tramped over to the space she had indicated (which was not far enough away from the others in his opinion) before seating himself against the hard clay.

As Thorin settled down to sleep, he felt something sharp digging into his chest, and remembered the Arkenstone. In everything that had occurred he had completely forgotten the stone that posed so many questions. He had always thought that the 'Heart of the Mountain' was simply a gem; but now, for some reason his suspicions led him to believe otherwise.

Thorin fought the urge to keep one eye open in case someone decided to steal it. His last act of greed had led to death and destruction; and he would be damned if he let the emotion take hold of his better judgement again. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep and the Arkenstone became a comforting weight against his breast; moving with the beat of his heart. As he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, Thorin hoped that in sleep, he would come to realise the events that had occurred were simply a fallacy; mere dreams in a feverish mind.

* * *

**A/N: I have (finally) decided on the theme song for this fic (an odd little thing I tend to do): 'Promentory' from The Last of the Mohicans (also known as 'The Gael' by Dougie Maclean). I honestly think it has a bit of a 'dwarvish' feel to it; and think it goes quite nicely with the beat of the story.**

**The 'slave pits' are modeled on the 'warg pits' from the two towers, mixed with ideas of gladiatorial pits. Also I just realised - typo on the Map of Erebor I drew - '3.' is not 'Food Hall' it is 'Forges' :)**

**I'm actually thinking of drawing up an edited and extended map of middle-earth and the far east for this story (the 5th Age); would anybody say yes to that? To help ya'll visualise certain aspects of the story?**

**Thanks so much to everyone that followed/favourited. Especially to _harrylee94_, _LadyDunla_, _Afri_, _Teres_, _Shadow fang the black wolf_, _blackestnight10_ and _L. C. Doyle_ for reviewing. Each and every one of you make me smile with what you have to say :)**

**Please review! It really helps me (both with motivation and ideas) when you do! :)**


	7. To The Forges

_"Far over, the Misty Mountains cold,_

_From dungeons deep and caverns old,_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To flee the long remembered cold."_

It was the soft sound of singing that pulled Thorin from the depths of his sleep, the lyrics wrapping around his mind and wrenching him into the waking world. He knew the words, but at the same time, something about them had changed. "They are not the right words." Thorin said, opening his eyes slowly to stare over at the boy sitting to his left.

Nannulf frowned, scrunching his nose in confusion, "But that is the way we have always sung it Thorin." he said; voice unsure.

"You have sung it differently?" Hlífhrím said suddenly, appearing in front of him slightly dirtier than she had been the day before; her green eyes curious.

Thorin sighed as he leaned his head back on the pit wall behind him. His dreams of darkness had done nothing for his temper; and he fought to keep it under control. Oh how he had wished all this had simply been the construction of a nightfear. "Yes." Thorin replied quietly, eyes flickering around and taking in the slowly waking forms of the other members of the faction; "But that does not matter anymore. The words are more suited to the times of now."

With a heave and a soft groan at his aching muscles; Thorin pushed himself off the ground and stood, staring up at the dull light of above. How he had settled into sleep the night before, he had no idea; the cavern was full of the sound of Orcs and Goblins shrieking at each other in a mixture of Westron and their own foul tongue.

"You had best stand back." Hlífhrím warned suddenly as above them, the faint whir of pulleys sounded. "They will send food down to us, and where you are standing is where the lift will land. See the marks in the ground?"

Immediately, Thorin stepped back with a scowl. "Why must you tell him?" Rorik said sharply; suddenly appearing out of nowhere beside them, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He is not young. Surely he must already know the way of things."

Thorin glared back at the pale-haired dwarf measure for measure but did not reply. There was nothing about this dwarf that gave him any indication he should tell him anything. The sound of the pulleys steadily grew louder and with a rattle the lift crashed to the ground in front of them. It was Rorik who first broke from the staring match and stormed to the wood; grabbing a loaf of bread and flask of water before storming off to a corner of the pit with his food.

As the others scrambled for the food; Thorin stood back and watched, noticing the quality of the bread - not the best, but not full of maggots or other parasites either as far as he could see. Hlífhrím came towards him, four loaves and four flasks in hand. "Why is this bread so good?" he asked her suspiciously as she handed him some food before moving onto Nannulf and Geir.

Hlífhrím laughed, a harsh and humorless sound. "Because the Easterlings, unlike Goblins, give enough food to sustain ourselves. They know that the stronger we are, the better able we are to do their work." she said quietly to him as she passed, bitterness evident in her voice; "They have been here more than long enough to learn the best ways to use us Master Thorin."

Thorin eyed the bread, torn whether or not to eat it; but finally, the pangs from his stomach won over this moral dilemma. He noticed several more loaves in the lift which were picked up and torn into pieces before being distributed evenly about the group. The one called Ása tossed a piece of bread into his lap with a glare before moving on and shoving another piece in Hlífhrím's.

"Must be her time of the month." Hlífhrím muttered under her breath beside him, loud enough for him to hear. Had he been a different person, in this particular situation and had the words not come from a young female dwarf (a more than disturbing fact); Thorin might have laughed. Instead, he sent Hlífhrím a stone-faced glare of disapproval, only to be met by a look of doe-eyed innocence.

* * *

The lift had been drawn up after that and the members of the Fifth faction sat around in small groups, eating their food. "Now, when they take us to the forges," Hlífhrím said between bites of bread, "You must do nothing out of the ordinary or unusual. Do not attract attention."

"Will this be the same lecture as the one you gave me in the deep, or will this contain new content?" Thorin hissed in reply, his voice low. "Because it seems to me that you left out some important information regarding names last time."

Hlífhrím scowled at him as she took a swig from her water flask, "I concentrated on what would get you past the goblins and so far that has worked! You should be thanking me, not chiding me!" she growled, and Thorin muttered something incoherent in reply (but it was most definitely not an apology); "Now, have you worked in a forge before?"

Thorin stared at her affronted, "Of course I have worked in a forge woman!" he replied hotly. When he noticed the suspicious looks he was getting from the rest of the faction, Thorin lowered his voice, "What do you take me for? I am not some hapless rabbit!"

"Well not everyone knew how to work the forges;" Hlífhrím said defensively, "when this started - I had to learn. It's not a ridiculous question!"

"Fine. Just thank me later then, as obviously, you are yet to bestow any sense of gratitude on me whatsoever." Hlífhrím snapped straight back at him, scowling as she sculled the last of her water. "Our faction is one of the better weapon makers-"

"They just let you make weapons?" Thorin broke in incredulously. Apparently, he wasn't going to let her get a word in edgewise this time either, "How have our people not risen up from this yet? How are they still slaves with weapons at their fingertips?" It didn't even sound credible to him obviously.

Hlífhrím sighed, "there was an attempted rebellion when I was younger, no more than 40 years of age. It was in the warren on the other side of Erebor." she replied, waving her hand dismissively, "All I know is that they got as far as the front gate before they were stopped. Since then, there has been a triple guard placed on the forges, and the Easterlings no longer let orcs oversee the weapons making, they do it themselves."

Thorin went quiet after that, back to his usual brooding presence, full of darkness. It was then that Hlífhrím first sensed the aura of loss that emanated him. There were no words of comfort she could give him, there were none she had for herself; so instead she did the first thing she could think of. Quietly she shifted closer until she could feel the body heat that emanated from him.

Normally this worked on Nannulf when he was feeling down, and although she would never dream of putting her arm around the once-king as she would for the younger dwarf; perhaps he would know that she was there for him if he needed her. For all he was a mystery, even mystery's needed support at times; and if they were to bear this place, they would all have to stick together.

* * *

Rorik's usually impassive face slipped into a scowl as the faction stepped back into the lift and up to their Orc guards. In the years he had been a part of faction Five, he had learned that order, routine and uniformity were to be prized. They were all attributes that would make their hellish lives in the deep easier to bear. This Thorin, son of Thrain as he called himself, had raised his suspicions the moment he stepped up onto the ledge of the mines.

Rorik studied the dwarf as they walked to the forges, the Orcs shoving them along. He didn't like the fact he was so tall. He didn't like the fact that he showed no emotion, his face impassive. He didn't like that the dwarf had apparently no clue as to what was going on around himself; but most of all, he didn't like that he had so easily managed to infiltrate their faction, with the interest of several, and the dogmatic support of another.

Why Hlífhrím defended him so harshly was suspicious. Her firmness had surprised him. Even though she obviously felt affection for the youngest and oldest members of their faction - Geir and Nannulf; her automatic protection of this stranger was odd to say the least. And he was more than suspicious, he was wary. One wrong move from anyone in the uniform little group they had created, and all the years of watching, all the intricate plans he had woven over the years, would come crashing down in one fell swoop. He could not and would not, allow that to happen.

* * *

It had taken Hlífhrím a long time to become used to the fact that Easterlings resented her people. The revelation had come to her when she was around fifty-two years of age; and she had been working in the forges for a number of years. The rebellion had occurred some ten years ago, yet the race of men still remembered and watched with careful eyes. There was one Easterling who stood out from all the others. He was tall and broad, with messy brown hair pulled into a braid at the back of his head. One could practically feel the authority emanating from him. The man simply watched the occurrences in the forges with unfaltering green eyes that never wavered from their task.

As the days, months, then years passed, Hlífhrím watched him grow older. Grey began to pepper his hair until the sides turned completely white. His once smooth face began to wrinkle at an alarming rate, and slowly, the Easterling began to appear less and less in the forges, until finally, he stopped appearing altogether. It was then that she realised their resentment, for a dwarf lived nearly three times the length of a man; and hence had more time in which to live.

It was almost a funny thing, that they resented the dwarves for living longer when they had practically no life whatsoever, deep in the mines. Hlífhrím sighed as the faction stopped at the opening of the forges. As always, she had to blink at the sudden bright light that trickled from the entrance of the caves, several meters away.

Hlífhrím stole a glance at Thorin as they entered the forges, wincing slightly at the wave of heat that hit them like a great tide. As usual, the tall dwarf did not react whatsoever, his face betraying no sign of emotion as they entered the great room.

Great slabs of rock angled up to the ceiling that stretched meters above their head. The smell of coals and metal was thick in the air as the dwarves that were already at work within the forges continued to hammer at the half-made swords, shields and other objects. There were at least fifty forges at different angles throughout the room; with one dwarf working the forge itself, and another helping at the anvil. There were guards everywhere. Standing on shelfs of rock above the workers and studying their work intently.

Hlífhrím saw Thorin's eyes narrow as he noticed the dwarves running between to forges with pails of water. "Nannulf's mother, Osk, was one of the first water-bearers." she explained quietly to Thorin, trying to move her lips in the smallest amount possible so as the goblins wouldn't notice them talking over the deafening roar of the forges. "She was the one who had the courage to speak up to the Easterlings and tell them that the dwarves could not work without water. Amazingly, they did as she said and gave extra to us while we worked the forges."

The tall dwarf's frown deepened, "His mother?" he said suddenly, "Nannulf could have seen no more than twenty years."

"Yes." Hlífhrím said quietly, aware of where this conversation was headed. Sweat began to bead at her forges as they waited for orders from the guards. She hated working the forges, hated it more than any other task.

"But that means-"

"Yes." she cut him off before he could speak his mind. Quickly she looked away from the pointed glare he sent her way.

She was caught by surprise when he spoke again, "Where is his father?" Thorin asked suddenly.

"I don't know." Hlífhrím replied automatically

"What do you mean you don't-"

"I mean I don't know. Osk never told me, she was only ten or so years older than myself, and told me many things, but not that." Hlífhrím shrugged, not meeting his eye. "For all I know, she could have been carrying him when she joined our faction.

Thorin was silent for a few moments as he considered her words, "What happened to her?"

"She died." Hlífhrím replied shortly, not inclined to offer any more information, and he thankfully did not ask. It was not something she liked to remember.

* * *

**A/N: I am not amused...Thorin has currently taken over Hlífhrím's story -.- **

**He's not letting her have much of a say is he? Bad boy! :P**

**I had more planned for this chapter, but decided to cut it in two instead.**

**Well, so far I have drawn up two maps which are currently posted on my profile if you wish to have a peek. The first covers the top part of Arda in the beginning of the fifth age; and the second will have more reference later on in the story with the location of different tribes of Easterlings. Both made up place names and tribe names are drawn from Old Norse words, as well as on occasion, Tolkien's created languages e.g. Noldorin, Sindarin, and Quenya. Please note that these maps may be subject to small changes as my ideas proceed. The shape of Arda I based on maps of Tolkien, as well as maps of Spain (although you probably won't be able to tell!).**

**Huge thanks to _Shadow fang the black wolf_, _blackestnight10_, _Valandhir_, _L. C. Doyle_, _LadyDunla_, _BarronsBaubles_, _harrylee94_, _RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_, _Celtic Elvish Maid_ and _whatcatydidnext _for reviewing. You're all fabulous and a complete inspiration. Thanks also to all those that favourited and/or followed. **

**Don't be shy! Please review! I'd love to hear what you all think! :)**


	8. In The Forges

Lightening flashed in the dark night sky, cutting through the looming thunderclouds like a knife and sending a rumble of thunder echoing throughout the mountains. The sudden blaze of light revealed a dwarf standing against one of the columns, barely sheltered from the rain. His dark brows were constricted in a frown, making his young face appear older; and his blue eyes were troubled as they stared off into the far East.

"My Lord Durin;" a voice spoke up from the darkness, causing the dwarf to turn. "I thought I might find you here."

"Yes Hallmund;" Durin sighed, his eyes flickering back to the East where so many of his people still laboured in the deep. "You know being here helps me to think."

The man that appeared behind him smiled sadly and nodded. Here in the Blue Mountains, the remaining few dwarves that had not perished or escaped the forces of darkness remained. Of all the free peoples of Middle Earth, Hallmund was sure none felt the fall of his people more dearly than the would-be-dwarven-king. He was a man of Dale, exiled from his home just as the young King was, and he too felt the sting of loss, even though he did not know it first hand.

It was his grandfather who had stood with the dwarves as they made their stand against the Easterlings almost ninety years ago, and it was his father who had continued fighting until the truce between the two peoples had been called up. Unsteady truce that it was.

"Gálmód and Túrin call you to counsel my Lord." Hallmund said, coming up behind the dwarf and looking out into the gloom with him.

Durin sighed at that, it seemed that he was forever in counsel, yet none did what was necessary. "What do they want now?" he asked quietly, turning to face his most loyal friend. He still thought on how it would have been if Erebor had never fallen. He would be King of Erebor, Hallmund would be King of Dale; and his people would be free. Durin could feel his temper rising once more.

"They want to talk of food preparations for the coming winter-" Hallmund began, but was cut off when Durin snarled in anger.

"Talk! They only ever want to talk!" he roared in anger, smashing his fist against the column beside him in a sudden fit of temper, "Why cannot they see that we need no more talk, we need to act! They sit here worrying about matters that we have already discussed and concluded, when so many are out there, beyond the mountains living their lives as slaves!"

Hallmund was silent at that, what could he say? There would not be any consolation for his friend that he could give. Durin calmed almost as quickly as his temper had flared, and grew quiet once more. Together, the two friends stood and stared out and over the mountains, where somewhere in the dimness, Erebor lay.

* * *

"Rín, catch!" a voice called, and Hlífhrím turned only just in time to grab the hammer that was thrown at her from across the forge.

Hlífhrím scowled at Viljalmar, who was looking at her laughingly, the smirk as plain as day on his face; "You fool Vil!" she hissed at the dirty-blonde dwarf, "Why are you always such a half-wit in the forges?! You could get us all killed!"

Viljalmar rolled his eyes, "Not to worry Rín, the Alicarl is on duty today," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the rather large Easterling (in a rotund sort of way) standing on one of the ledges above them. "and you and I both know that means there's less attention given to us. Is she overreacting, or is she overreacting Dis?"

His sister wiped the sweat that was beading at her brow and smirked; "I do believe she is overreacting brother dear." Vigdis grinned, wetting her lips with her tongue, "Rín, you should try and laugh when you get the chance, it'll do you a world of good."

Hlífhrím harrumphed at the sniggering pair and turned back to her work. The heat from the forges almost felt as if it were singing her eyebrows. With one last swing, hammer met metal, and the pickaxe she had just created was shoved in a water bucket to cool.

"Here is the next." a quiet voice said at her shoulder, as another piece of red-hot metal was laid on the anvil.

"Thank you Ivarr." Hlífhrím smiled tiredly at her forge-partner for the day. Much to her consternation, she and Thorin had been separated when they entered the forges, he had been paired with Geir, and she with Ivarr. It was not that she did not like the brown-haired dwarf, no, he was not bad for all he was quiet and indifferent; it was just that not being partnered with Thorin had left her feeling uneasy. There was so much that could go wrong, so many possibilities that could end badly if he were discovered, or worse, made a mistake. For some reason, she felt responsible for him.

Ivarr simply nodded in reply and went back to the fires to begin smelting the next piece of metal. As soon as he had turned, Hlífhrím risked a glance in the direction of the tall dark dwarf and Geir. The pair had been placed in the weapons section and Thorin was hammering at a piece of metal so viciously, it looked as if it were about to twist.

"Here Rín," A voice broke her from her thoughts and Hlífhrím looked down to see Nannulf's young face smiling up at her, water pail in hand; "Have some water."

She smiled at the young dwarf as she gratefully took the drink from him, placing hammer and tongs on the anvil for a moment. "Thankyou Nannulf." Hlífhrím said as she took a swig, gulping the liquid and relishing the cool feel of it as it slid down her throat. "You had better go give some to Ivarr too - he is working the fires after all and needs it more than me."

"Yes Rín," the youngling replied, moving off quickly to do as he was bid. Hlífhrím cast another glance in the direction of the other pair as she picked up her work once more. Thorin had such a thunderous scowl on his face that she was surprised he hadn't been spotted already - even if todays guards were not the most perceptive of the bunch. He had to be stopped immediately, and Geir was obviously too busy, his one good eye trained on the fires he worked.

"Nannulf!" she called to the young water-bearer as he passed, a plan formulating in her mind. "Go to Thorin and Geir offer them water and tell Thorin I said to remember." Hlífhrím said once he was closer.

Nannulf's face scrunched into a frown as he considered what she had to say, "Yes Rín, but what do you mean 'remember'?" he asked, evidently confused.

Hlífhrím shook her head, "It does not matter, he will know." she replied, "Now go and tell him."

* * *

Thorin gritted his teeth as he pounded the sheet of metal in front of him. The feel of his hammer hitting the half-formed shield resonated through him with each blow.

With a growl, Thorin smashed his hammer down once more; cursing everything. The Easterlings, the weakness of his people for allowing them to take over, he even cursed her, Hlífhrím, for waking him from his deathly sleep. But most of all, he cursed his own weakness for the Arkenstone that led him, his nephews and hundreds of his kinsfolk to death in the Battle of the Five Armies. Perhaps this was meant by Mahal as a means of atonement for his greed. A life of servitude here in this hellish future.

"You are different, Thorin, son of Thrain." The sudden words jerked Thorin from his pensive thoughts. The tall dwarf turned to see Geir, his forge partner staring at him with a look that was both full of suspicion and knowing. "You are different from the rest of us."

Thorin frowned at the old dwarf, turning back to his anvil "I know not what you mean." He said, hiding his surprise at the sudden question under surety; "How am I 'different' as you say?"

Geir smirked slightly at the careful question. "You do not have the look of a slave, brow beaten and weary;" he said only just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the forges; "You have the look of a Lord who gives orders rather than take them."

Thorin said nothing in reply to the grey-haired dwarf; just scowled and hammered his half-made shield harder.

"You did not tell us your clan, Thorin son of Thrain," Geir growled, his one eye narrowing, "you would not be of the house of Ironfist would you?"

Immediately, the tall dwarf whirled, "I am no Ironfist!" Thorin spat in barely concealed anger. "I am of the Longbeard Clan, a son of Durin! Do not liken me to one of those Orc-lovers!"

When Mahal the Maker first created the Khazâd, he drew the seven fathers from the earth. Three came to being in the West of Middle Earth - the Longbeards, Broadbeams and Firebeards; and four rose in the East - the Blacklocks, Ironfists, Stonefoots and Stiffbeards. Early in the first age, a resentment built between those of the East and those of the West, especially between the Longbeards and the Ironfists; the latter of which prized war almost as much as their gold and precious gems. The one thing dwarves had skill in, other than making things, was the holding of a grudge; and the bitterness between the East and West only hardened with time.

Geir stared impassively at the sudden show of aggression, "For someone who supposedly does not remember, you show much hate for that Clan."

Thorins eyes narrowed in contempt, "I do not know things of the here and now," he replied, "that does not mean I do not remember the betrayal of the four clans."

"Ahhhh so you remember the old stories do you?" Geir laughed harshly, "perhaps if we had learned from the lessons of the past, we would not be where we are now."

The statement immediately grabbed Thorins attention. There was something that spoke to him in the old dwarfs stance, some hurt that threatened to push to the surface. His curiosity was piqued. Just as Thorin opened his mouth to ask what exactly the other dwarf referred to; a blonde head appeared in front of his anvil.

"Water for you Thorin!" Nannulf said, holding up a flask of liquid. "And for you too Geir." he added, noticing the white haired dwarf standing behind the other.

"Thank you, Nannulf." Thorin said, accepting the flask with gratitude. The boy reminded him in part of his nephews when they had been young. An indomitable spirit. Just as Thorin lifted the water to his lips, he thought better of drinking, and offered the flask to Geir first. The old dwarf stared at him with an unfathomable expression for a moment and then accepted it with a nod of thanks. He took a few gulps before passing it over. With a half-smile in the Nannulf's direction, Thorin took a sip and passed it back to the young dwarf once more.

Nannulf turned to go over to the next forge, but turned back at the last minute. "Hlífhrím said for me to tell you you have to remember." He said with a puzzled frown before moving off.

Thorin frowned in the direction of the female dwarf's forge, but her back was turned to him; her red hair shaking as she beat the metal on her anvil into shape. Of course he remembered, her constant reminders of how to act and behave were beginning to severely grate on his nerves.

"Her father was an Ironfist you know." Geir spoke up suddenly, making Thorin turn around in surprise, "Hlífhrím, the only ally you seem to have among us shares the blood of those you propose to hate."

Thorin frowned darkly, "Is she..." He said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Her father was a spy for the Easterlings when they decided to overtake Erebor. He was one of those that worked our people from the inside." Geir replied, matter-of-factly.

Thorin stared at the white haired dwarf in shock. So that was how Erebor was overrun, taken from the inside; and the one person he had been forced to place his trust in was the daughter of a betrayer. "She told me she was of the Longbeard clan." He said accusingly, eyes narrowing in anger as they flickered back to the mass of red hair at the forge across from him.

"Her mother was a Longbeard." Geir replied, the knowing look returning to his eye; when Thorin turned back to him. Tiredly, the white-haired dwarf sighed, "Hlífhrím's story is one that is long and complicated; and one that is not my story to tell. Perhaps one day she will, but if she does, do not judge her."

Thorin's jaw hardened as he turned back to his hammer and shield, "Why should I not judge how I see fit?" he said sharply.

"Because it is not your place to." came the simple reply, and Thorin's hand faltered mid swing. That was the crux of the fact. Everything had changed, and he was no longer the exiled King of the Longbeards, searching to reclaim his home for his people. He did not know his place anymore.

* * *

Hlífhrím wiped the sweat off her forehead with a grubby hand as the last call shift sounded. Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, she could see Vil and Dis sniggering to themselves about something. She only just resisted the urge to roll her eyes at their antics. They were old enough to know better, were both fairly intelligent, and knew what awaited them if they were caught in the process of one of their many antics.

As each faction began to line up, Hlífhrím cast a quick glance around her. The blonde siblings were already waiting in line with Ejnar; Ivarr was several paces ahead of her and she could see Nannulf heading in their direction minus his pail. What drew her attention was the last four; Ása and Geir were ahead, Thorin a little ways behind, but Rorik was not where he was supposed to be. His and Ása's forge was on the opposite side of the room to Thorin and Geir's and yet; that was the direction he was coming from.

With a shout, there was a sudden commotion from the forge where Thorin and Geir had been working, next to the wall of the cave. Somehow, fire had spread to the wooden posts nearby and licked up the support beams (one of the more stupid Easterling ideas - which none of the dwarves had felt necessary to warn their overlords of). With an almighty crash, the smallest fell to the floor.

All at once, there was movement as Easterlings swarmed to the fire and hastened to put it out. The guards that were left snarled at the dwarves to form ranks, and Hlífhrím looked for Thorin in confusion. How had Geir left a fire burning in the pit? The first rule of forging was to control the fire, and the old dwarf was a master. She soon spotted Thorin several dwarves away from her, jostling for position; but he wasn't looking at her, he was scowling at Rorik who was busy talking animatedly with Ása, as if the unease around them didn't even exist.

It started out as only a faint rumble, and Hlífhrím froze, looking up to the ceiling. The sound progressively grew louder, and cracks began to appear in the clay above them. "Cave in!" someone screamed across from her and the room erupted into panic. Easterlings and dwarves alike shoved each other aside, heading for the door as in a rush, dirt began to fall. Hlífhrím didn't have a second to react before she and several others next to her were crushed by the mound of rock and earth that dropped from the ceiling.

• • •

Hlífhrím couldn't breathe, couldn't move. It was not normal for a dwarf who loved the underground to feel claustrophobic; but she panicked when she was unable to shift the mound off her. Hlífhrím opened her mouth to scream, but it immediately filled with dirt and she began to choke.

Pinpricks of black began to filter through her vision and her eyes began to roll back in her head as the oxygen slowly left her brain. Suddenly, she felt something shift above her, light bursting into her eyes; and strong hands slipping around her and pulling her from beneath the ground.

Rough, but gentle fingers quickly scooped as much dirt as possible from Hlífhrím's mouth before moving to turn her on her side, leaving her to cough out the rest on her own. Still woozy, she blinked the dirt from her eyelashes and looked up into the concerned face of Thorin Oakenshield.

Or at least, she thought the had seen concern etched on his features; his face was once more impassive. "Thank you." Hlífhrím rasped, spiting up more tiny pieces of dirt.

Thorin only nodded a reply, before stepping away hastily; "Nannulf, bring her some water!" he called to the young dwarf several paces away. In a second, his expression changed to positively murderous. Hlífhrím looked in the direction his glare was pointed and frowned at the pale-haired dwarf that talked quietly and quickly to a dwarf in another faction.

With a growl, Thorin stalked towards Rorik before Hlífhrím could stop him. "You tampered with my forge!" he roared, whirling on the pale-haired dwarf.

"I did no such thing." Rorik snarled in reply, his posture stiffening in silent aggression; although, after years of living in close contact with him, Hlífhrím could immediately tell he was lying. The dwarf Rorik had been talking to quickly melted back into his own faction before she could see him properly.

"You nearly killed her and the others!" Thorin spat, grey eyes murderous as he ignored the other dwarf's denial. In two strides Thorin was in front of Rorik and had grabbed him by the front of his tunic.

Rorik's face twisted in sudden rage and he wrenched the other man's hands off him "Do not touch me." he hissed. There was a second, then they were at one another. Hlífhrím didn't even know who had moved first (although she suspected Rorik). It was when she saw the Easterling guards recover from their initial shock and head towards them that she decided she had to move.

"Stop!" Hlífhrím croaked, still tasting the bitter dirt in her mouth as she wrenched herself off the ground and towards the fighting pair. Just as she reached her arm out to stop them, she was violently pulled back and forced to her knees.

An Easterling wrenched her head back by the hair, making Hlífhrím's eyes water in sudden pain. She caught a glimpse of several more guards doing the same with Thorin and Rorik in front of her. The latter ceased moving as soon as the guards latched on to him, but Thorin continued to struggle until another guard pulled his head back by the hair. There was movement in front of her and the Alicarl stared down at the three of them with contempt; black eyes cold, "Take them before the Sachem. Let him decide what to do with this lot."

* * *

**A/N: ****Thanks to Valandhir for her input on this chapter and to L. C. Doyle for her neverending enthusiasm.**

**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: **

**I have cleaned up my profile, and every week, you will find a new link there. Why? Because I am slowly putting together a visual compendium of all the characters. You will find their pictures under 'Cast:' and 'I've Seen Hell'. They do look fairly realistic I have to say, BUT THE BIG THING IS: I want all of YOU to decide which characters picture gets added to the list next! Today Hlífhrím and Rorik have presented themselves, next week, Nannulf will join them, but after that...you decide which order. **

**So please, let me know in a Review or PM who you'd like to see up there next! :)**

_**Hallmund: Rock + Protector**_

_**Gálmód: Haughty**_

_**Túrin: Heart of Victory**_

_**Alicarl: fat churl, fatso - derogatory nickname (Old Norse)**_

_**Sachem: chief or leader**_

**SUPERHUGEMEGAAWESOME THANKS to ****_Valandhir, L. C. Doyle, LadyDunla, tempalla, RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan, UKReader, KingofTruands, BarronsBaubles, harrylee94, and MrsEMJC_**** for reviewing, as well as those who favourited/followed. You're all an inspiration.**

**Please review when you have a moment, all comments and constructive criticism is appreciated! :)**


	9. The Sachem of Erebor

_""Hlífhrím! Your father's home!" her mother's voice rang out through their house; and the young dwarf girl's ears immediately pricked up. Laughing with the excitement that only a four-year old could contain, she raced down the stairs into the living-room._

_"Daddy!" Hlífhrím squealed excitedly as she ran towards the tall, silvery-haired dwarf. All she knew was that he had been on business for their King for several days, and she had missed him terribly._

_Her father turned around at the sound of her voice and smiled at her giggling when he picked her up and spun her around. "How is my favourite little girl?" he asked, green eyes the same shade as hers twinkling merrily. "I hope you've been well behaved for your mother while I was away."_

_"I've been good!" Hlífhrím replied chirpily, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I've missed you daddy."_

_Her mother smiled at the pair from the doorway into the small family's ample kitchen before turning and setting out plates of food. "I've missed you too Rín." her father said with a smile, carrying her to the table before letting her drop down to the floor and clamper into her own chair._

_"Why did you have to go away?" Rín asked when they had all started eating, her mouth full of meat and vegetables._

_"Hlífhrím! Manners!" her mother cut in, chastising with a frown from the seat across from her; "Don't speak with your mouth full at the table!"_

_Rín swallowed her mouthful and flashed an angelic smile in her mother's direction "Yes mama." She turned back to her father when she heard his quiet huff of a laugh._

_"Because I was ordered to go, and so I did." the dwarf said with with a smile; his eyes flickering to his wife's in a silent laugh as he braced himself for the weight of the questions to come._

_"Do you have to go again?" Rín asked as soon as he finished, barely giving him enough time to take a breath before asking another question._

_"Probably." her father replied, lifting a chicken-leg to his mouth, only getting halfway when the next question came._

_"Very soon?" __Hlífhrím asked, her eyes like saucers._

_Her mother bit back a laugh at the look of pained calmness on her husband's face, the rate tonight's questions were going he would be stuck on the same leg for another five minutes. "I do not know Rín." he said slowly._

_Immediately, and without fail, the next question came, "Why don't I have a beard? Rín asked casually._

_The dinner table fell silent at that question and Hlífhrím's father looked at her sharply, "What did you say?" he said with a frown, confused at the change of topic._

___Hlífhrím shifted in her seat and frowned as she tried to spear a rather uncompromising potato on her plate,_"I was out with the others yesterday and Nyrrna called me funny-looking because I don't have a beard." she said, so focused on her food that she did not notice the silent look that passed between her parents.

_"__Hlífhrím, look at me._" her father said suddenly, making her glance up from her plate. His green eyes were serious, and something told Rín that whatever he was about to say was important. "Your mother and I, in light of events that are steadily creeping closer, feel that is time to tell you something important. Something which you must not tell anyone else under any circumstances. Do you understand?"

_Wide eyed, Rín nodded furiously, her dinner forgotten. "Your mother and I met each other many years ago when I first came to Erebor. We fell in love, and then we had you." Her father said, "You see, it was strange for me to come to this place and see our women with beards, for in my clan, our dwarf women do not have beards."_

_____Hlífhrím frowned, scrunching up her nose as she tried to think things out, "In other clans women don't have beards?" she asked._

_Her father smiled a little at that, "No, in mine they do not. That is why you do not have a beard ____Hlífhrím, because you share my blood." he answered._

_____Rín thought for a moment before asking her next question (breaking the habit of never-ending, automatic questioning) _"What clan do you belong to daddy?"

_"Now this is the part you must not tell anyone ____Hlífhrím, and whatever people may say about my-our people, do not believe everything they say." he said, his eyes never wavering from hers as they seemed to bore into her mind, "You see, I the House of Ironfists."_

* * *

It is the uncertainty that comes with fear which makes it all the more potent. The uncertainty of whether one will live or die, the uncertainty of success or failure; it is the key ingredient for pure, mindless terror.

Dwarves prided themselves on their ability not to show fear, their ability to remain stoic in the midst of terror like the ground whence they came. Thorin had fought in many battles over his life, he had seen death and destruction so great that his heart had turned to stone, like the rock beneath their feet; in an attempt to keep his soul from shattering.

He could clearly see the fear on Hlífhrím's face as the Easterlings dragged them towards this Sachem (whatever that was) even though in her disoriented state, she tried in vain to hide it.

He had seen the dirt that fell from the ceiling, and he saw her disappear beneath the mound of earth. It was with little thought to her clan, or the fact that she had not told him the absolute truth, that Thorin had come to her rescue. He reasoned with himself that she was still of his kinsmen, and the rest of the dwarves were too shell-shocked to move; that was why he had done it. (But truthfully, it had made him wonder just how much his people had changed over the years - not to help another of their kin in need).

As much as Thorin tried to distance himself from any display of emotion or attachment to these dwarves, so far from his own time; he could not. He could not help the immense feeling of responsibility that overcame him each and every time he saw the pitiful state in which his people had sunk.

"Do not show your fear," Thorin said quietly to the female dwarf as they were dragged further into the deep. "You are of Durins folk, and we are strong-"

"No talking!" One of the Easterlings behind them snapped, shoving him harder than necessary and making him stumble forwards.

Thorin resisted his instinct to turn and pummel the puny man into the earth whence he came, instead, catching Hlífhríms eye with his own and nodding in approval at the lack of fear he saw there now.

There was a bark of rough laughter from the pale haired dwarf beside him that made Thorin turn on their third companion with a snarl. "Lovely speech of encouragement oh wise one," Rorik drawled, a small amount of blood still seeping from the corner of his mouth (which Thorin noted with some satisfaction). "You truly do have a way with words of comfort."

Just as Thorin was about to lunge at said dwarf, the Easterling shoved the pair of them forward harshly once more. "I said quiet dwarf-filth!" The man snarled, "When I call for silence I mean it!"

As much as it pained him to stay silent, Thorin somehow managed to rein in his temper. If they got out of this alive, he was going to take great pleasure in cornering Rorik in the mines. Let him try then, to challenge a son of Durin when he fought in a battle of his own making.

* * *

The ancient doors had seen thousands of lives pass through their stone and almost seemed almost to spring up out of nowhere within the great slab of rock. They were both made from stone that had been carved with the pattern of lines and runes that covered every surface of Dwarven creation. Hlífhrím could remember that the stories from times long ago told of elves who had once thought dwarves uncultured for the way they hewed metal from stone; but in the end had learned that there was an art to their mining and creation that was entirely unique. It was a thing of beauty in its own right.

The doors were not what one could call a thing of beauty any longer. The orcs and goblins in their spiteful hate had scratched the lines and runes of the dwarves from the surface of the rock as high as they were able to reach. The Easterlings in the end, had decided that they were above living in that type of Orc-filth, and insisted on making their con-quested Erebor 'more presentable' - recarving certain things from the stone and inserting their own culture. The result was, as Hlífhrím it, a grotesque mix of Orc and Easterling that tainted the works her ancestors had made. The sight sickened her.

Thorin grunted beside her when the guard pushed him forward once more and imperceptibly, she shifted closer to the other two dwarves. She had never been to this part of Erebor after it's destruction and takeover; and she did not know what to expect beyond those doors. With a start, Hlífhrím noticed the guards that stood outside the great doors for the first time. Blinking her gritty eyes, she studied them intently, noting the differences between them, and the ones who walked behind them.

The Easterlings standing at the door were shorter than those that walked behind the three, almost as short as the dwarves themselves. Their hair was a deep black, curling around their faces in waves, highlighting their tanned skin, browner than the wood of the pikes they held in their hands.

The men behind Hlífhrím said something to those at the door in a garbled language beyond her understanding. The door keepers nodded and shifted their stances, opening the doors with the screech of stone against stone. The three dwarves stumbled through, their guards walking behind. The hairs on the back of Hlífhrím's neck prickled, she could feel the two pairs of black eyes that watched them until the doors slowly slid shut behind them.

Taking a deep breath, Hlífhrím took a quick glance about the room. It was as long as it was wide, the Dwarven columns of ages past standing tall and proud, stretching up, further than the eye could see. At the end of the hall, was a dais, steps rising up to Seven great chairs, hewn from the same rock as what lay beneath their feet.

The center chair was the largest, covered in furs and decorated with carvings. On it, languished a person, his head propped up on his fingers. He was tall, even for a man as far as Hlífhrím could tell; if he were to stand, he would be almost twice her height. His greyish blonde hair fell in messy blonde tangles down his back and his eyes looked like what she could remember of the colour of the sky. An infinite blue that pierced the soul. Immediately, she knew this was the Sachem, the leader of the Easterlings that dwelled here in the depths of Erebor.

"So, you few dwarves are the ones who have caused so much ruckus in my productive abode." His said, his deep voice casting about the silent hall like one of the flashes of thunder that could occasionally be heard echoing off the slopes of the mountain. "Tell me why you feel the need to ruin the peace we have built up here." It took all of Hlífhrím's self control not to quake in fright and immediately, she forced to think of the words that Thorin had uttered not a few moments ago.

_"You are of Durins folk and we are strong." He said, his deep voice rumbling through her in an entirely different way to what the Sachem's had._

The Sachem's eyes roved over each of them in turn and stopped on her. "A little female. Now that is something I have not seen in my time here." The man said, sounding genuinely surprised. In one move, he stood from his chair and walked towards them with all the lumbering power of a great bear. Hlífhrím resisted the urge to shrink back as he came towards her, "But a female dwarf without a beard, now that is definitely not something I have seen, only heard of." He said, grabbing her chin roughly in large fingers and turning her face from side to side. "I ask why one of ours would be living as a slave amongst the other dwarves."

"I am not 'one of yours'," Hlífhrím snarled, forgetting who it was exactly that she spoke to, and jerked her chin from his hand; staring back at him in defiance. "And neither was my father, he realised the pathetic nature of your little warring clans and showed me where true loyalty stems from."

Fast as a snake, the Sachem reached out and grabbed her throat, pulling her closer to him as if she weighed nothing more than a feather, "That is enough, slave." He growled warningly, tightening his fingers on her skin as Hlífhrím gasped for breath.

"That is enough! Let her be!" A voice that resounded throughout the room with the power of Kings, broke the man's concentration and the Sachem let Hlífhrím drop to the ground; her body shaking as she tried to breathe.

Almost like a predator, the Sachem turned on Thorin, "Well well, this interesting, not one but two dwarves who would try to stand up and fight against me when they are clearly in no position to do so." Ice blue eyes shifted between Hlífhrím and Thorin with interest. The Easterling's eyes narrowed and his voice quickly turned harsh. "I could have the three of you flogged until the blood runs down your back in rivets" he cocked his head to the side as if considering them all, "but I feel that would be a bit to much for our Orc companions, who would likely be unable to contain themselves with the scent of fresh dwarf blood - so long have they been denied it." The Sachem's entire demeanor changed in one moment, and with a laugh he waved his hand dismissively and returned to sit on the largest centre chair. "That is the problem with Orc-scum; they only have so much use before they become tiresome and not worth the effort of an alliance."

Hlífhrím staggered to her feet, trying to contain her confusion - the man had to be utterly mad - the way he flipped from cruelty to almost talking to friends. "Now," The Sachem said, his voice growing dark once more, "What to do with you instead is the hard question."

* * *

**A/N: As promised, the next character picture is up on my profile (Nannulf). Next week will be Geir...then who? Ladies and gentleman, cast your votes!**

******_MrsEMJC:_ I can't reply to you personally, so I thought I would do it here...Firstly, thanks so much for your reviews! Secondly, 'the stress called Thorin' HAHA, yes...quite stressful eh? Well, Thorin and Durin ARE kind of related aren't they ;) (I figured the temper tantrums would be hereditary :P) Yes, yes, all will be revealed as we continue along this unexpected journey... (see what I did there? ;) ). Thank you! I'm glad you liked that little bit of lyric tweaking, I thought it would be an interesting way to set the scene :) Thanks so much for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying it! **

**Massive thanks to _L. C. Doyle, tempella, UKReader, LadyDunla, Shadow fang the black wolf, harrylee94, Teres, _and_ MrsEMJC_ for reviewing, and to all my new followers and favouriters! Thank you all, knowing you're reading is what helps me keep writing when things threaten to get a bit much.**

**Please review everyone who reads this story if or when you have a moment. It would be very much appreciated! :)**


	10. The Knowing

_On either side the river lie_

_Long fields of barley and of rye,_

_That clothe the wold and meet the sky;_

_And thro' the field the road runs by_

_To many-tower'd Remorot;_

_And up and down the people go,_

_Gazing where the lilies blow_

_Round an island there below,_

_The island of Mellion._

_•_

_Willows whiten, aspens quiver,_

_Little breezes dusk and shiver_

_Thro' the wave that runs for ever_

_By the island in the river_

_Flowing down to Remorot._

_Four gray walls, and four gray towers,_

_Overlook a space of flowers,_

_And the silent isle imbowers_

_The Lady of Mellion._

•

The dwarf hummed to himself the first two stanza's of an old song - one that was not even of Dwarvish origin, but sung by the Easterlings. It was ironic what almost ninety years in slavery could do to a person. The Easterling's love ballad had been an easy one to learn, a small amount of entertainment in the darkness although he was conflicted about singing a song of their Slave Lords.

He had still been young (by dwarf standards) when Erebor had been taken, only 40 summers under his belt. Eighty nine years later and one thing hadn't changed, his refusal to be conquered, his refusal to accept that they were going to have to live the rest of their lives living beneath the depths of the earth on the whim of an Easterling master.

He, unlike many of the other men of his clan, had not died in the fighting. A fact which he first cursed then decided was a sign that he was still needed in Middle-Earth. Mahal had spared his life for a purpose, no matter how grim the future might appear, the Maker never forgot his people.

Turing his mind from melancholy thoughts, he refused to believe that he would never again be able to breathe the fresh air. He just knew the the events that had been set in motion from here on out would change their lot in life, and lying there in the darkness, he swore, that whatever it took, he would one day taste the sweetness of freedom once again.

* * *

"Well that could have gone worse." Rorik's deep voice spoke up through the darkness, bouncing off the stone walls of the cells.

Hlífhrím's hands clenched in fury at the blasé way the older dwarf was taking this. They had been holed up beneath the ground in Erebor's jail for the past week with only bread and water once a day for sustenance. Her eye's had forgotten what even candle-light looked like. "It could have gone better also Rorik!" Hlífhrím said her teeth clenching in anger. "In fact it would have been better if you had not started this at all! Why did you tamper with Thorins forge?!"

Hlífhrím could almost feel the incredulous stare turned on her from the other dwarf, even though they were separated by the thick wall of a stone cell. "What makes you think it was I that tampered with it?" Rorik asked, his voice turning accusatory, "I have never seen him before, in all my years before and after the Easterlings came; and I have seen more years than you. So why is it that immediately, you trust him when we have no idea who, or what he is?"

"I...I can't say." Hlífhrím stammered, suddenly conflicted, "All I know is this, that I do trust him. Utterly."

There was silence from the cell next to her at that, and Hlífhrím frowned, suddenly unsure. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, a harsh bark of laughter came from Rorik's cell. "So that is it, the mighty Hlífhrím has decided to trust him, without any knowledge of who he is. How poetic." He said, his voice unforgiving.

Even though she knew he could not see her, Hlífhrím blushed, embarrassed. "That is not true!" She hissed back at him, her stomach giving a strange twinge as she said the words, "My reasons for trusting him are entirely my own, Rorik, son of Moihn! Do not presume to know all, when clearly you do not!"

"Easy now daughter of Gildhrím." Rorik said, his voice pacifying yet mocking and only serving to make her even madder.

Hlífhrím glared daggers through the stone cell wall at her companion. If he had been able to see her, he surely would have collapsed, the sharpness of her stare shredding him to pieces. "Do not attempt to pacify me Rorik." She spat, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her head against the cold stone wall. "This is YOUR fault we are here and YOUR fault Thorin is not!"

A derisive snort emanated from the other occupied cell. "Hardly," came the dry reply, "It is his fault entirely."

* * *

_"What to do with you instead is the hard question." The Sachem said, growing silent as he contemplated their fate. Suddenly he slammed his fist down on the wood of the chair and called out. "I have decided! Skøldjor!"_

_As the name echoed around the room, another Easterling entered behind them. The Sachem smiled menacingly, "Now listen carefully, this is your punishment and you must choose. Two will face the same, and one will face another. Two will find it dark, and one will find it hard. One may barely stay alive, but two will live their lives." he said, leaning back in his chair._

_Thorin stared straight back at the Sachem with disdain, "Are you always one to speak in riddles?" he asked snarkily. He had always despised riddles, and even now they brought back unwanted memories that tasted of bile in his mouth. This one didn't even make any sense._

_The Sachem glared at the dark haired dwarf, "So I see you, Master Dwarf, do not want to play my little games. More's the pity." he replied, waving his hand in dismissal, "Very well then, two of you will face a very mundane and non-violent punishment whereas the other will do something for me; and the task will not necessarily be easy, nor pleasant. So choose between yourselves."_

_Thorin could see the conflicted look on Hlífhrím's face and the blank look on Rorik's. Just as the female dwarf opened her mouth to no doubt take the harder task, he cut her off. "I will take the singular task." Thorin said, staring the Sachem straight in the eye. "What is to be these punishments you speak of?"_

_The Sachem smiled nastily and snapped his fingers at the Easterlings behind them, "Guards, take the female and the blonde one to the cells - bread and water only for two weeks." he said, obviously watching with glee as Thorin's face morphed into a scowl. The dwarf could see Hlífhrím looking back over her shoulder at him with worry as she and Rorik were lead off into the dark._

_"And what is to be my punishment, Sachem?" the black-haired dwarf asked, practically spitting out the last word. _

_"You shall be making something for me Master Dwarf." the man said, standing from his chair with a heave and stalking over; circling him like a predator watching prey. "For I know your style of working is different from the other dwarves here in Erebor - I am told it has a slightly...unusual flavour to it..."_

_Thorin's eyes narrowed as he stared straight ahead; his mind working furiously. He hadn't even thought to look at the way the other dwarves were handling their tools and creating their metalworks. "How would you know this?" he asked carefully; already aware of the answer. There was a spy amongst the dwarves._

_"Oh, a little birdy told me." the Sachem laughed but his eyes were ice hard. "I have many eyes, in the lowest and highest of places Master Dwarf. Tell me, who are your people?"_

_Thorin gritted his teeth as he tried to work out how to respond. "I am of the Longbeard clan." he said finally; forcing the words to leave his mouth._

_"Longbeard eh? That is most interesting..." the Sachem said, suddenly studying him intently. The man jerked himself up and looked behind him. "Skøljdor, take him and show him what to do."_

* * *

**A/N: Only a short one today everyone, these horrid little things called Assignments are taking precedence; hopefully when I get ahead on everything, these updates will be longer :)**

**The song is an adaptation of one of my favourite poems...can you guess which one? ;)**

**This week's picture is Geir and next week's is...the Sachem of Erebor! :) Keep voting everyone!**

**Many thanks to all those that have followed and favourited this story as well as _LadyDunla_,_ Dereklover89_,_ L. C. Doyle_, _tempella_,_ MrsEMJC_,_ UKReader_, _DeadheadDaisy_, _RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_, _harrylee94_, and _Celtic Elvish Maid_ for reviewing. Much appreciated, you're all wonderful! x**


	11. Beneath The Mountain

When the realm of Arda was first made by the Valar, each creation was sung into being, following the will of Erü. Each rock and tree, leaf and stone came alive in that day, and then slept. The Eldar, for all they were the first and most beautiful and wise of all Erü's creations, did not know the power of life that thrummed within the very core of the world. As they grew into the world they lived in, they began to talk with the trees and learn the rumbles of the stone beneath their feet, but they did not quite understand the earth in it's entirety. And so, when the Eldar passed into the West, the secrets of the living nature were forgotten.

The occurrences of the Second and Third Ages had turned to myth and legend by the Fifth Age, and the First had been all but forgotten by the peoples of Middle Earth. The Lonely Mountain had stood for all that time, a tall peak in the center of a rich grassland. The mountain could not see, it did not have eyes, but it could feel; it's roots of stone delving deep beneath the earth and it's rocky crest stretching like a straight sword, into the sky.

The Mountain had first been awoken when small stocky creatures had initially settled in it's depths. Noting the way the creatures treated the stone that they pulled from it's rocky walls - with such loving care, the Mountain felt that once more, it could sleep. The second time the mountain was woken would prove to have the greatest change. For the Heart of the Mountain had been found, and taken into the throne of the little people that had made it's peaks their home.

The Mountain had rumbled in anger after that day, for it could feel the aura of greedy desire and sickness that evaporated into the air; off the one others called 'King'. An angry tremble of rock against soil, soil against grass, and grass against tree pulsed through the silent world that day; and only one creature noticed.

The dragon for the first time, recognised the bounty that lay within the depths of the mountain and came to claim it as it's own. With the new occupant within it's walls, the mountain fell asleep once more; the Heart of the Mountain safe within the dragon's trove.

The third time the Mountain had woken, it had felt the battle that raged outside it's walls and it felt the grief of those that laid one that had died in the battle within it's halls of stone. It was one of the tree-people who had made the fateful move that day - who had placed the Heart of the Mountain upon the breast of the new King that had died. From the moment it rested against the roughness of his tunic, and the darkness of ages descended in the tomb. The Mountain saw, and time stopped.

* * *

The Arkenstone was rubbing roughly against Thorin's inner shirt, almost chaffing his skin as he continued to work the metal at his fingertips. He could almost feel the gem beat in time with his heart, odd thought that it was. It was ironic really, how the Easterlings had not even bothered to search him; so low was their opinion of his people. Three weeks holed up in a room with a dingy furnace, a guard and a little bread and water twice a day; he had never felt so tired in his life.

The Easterling that had been assigned to Thorin continued to stand in the corner of the room; watching him work. The dwarf also, watched the man out of the corner of his eye as he himself, continued to hammer the metal beneath his fingertips. Skøljdor. That was the guard's name, or so it seemed. The man had been indifferent to him since the moment one had laid eyes on the other; except for the occasional order or snarl to work faster. Thorin felt no liking for his guard, and he was certain his guard felt no liking for him. He was merely a job, an added hassle to be wary of.

Thorin had immediately noticed the similarity between this Easterling and the Sachem; they shared the same nose and eyes. The same blonde hair, messy and tangled. His mouth quirked at the corner at that thought. The Sachem had a son, and that son was his one and only guard. How convenient.

"You dwarf, stop smirking." The Easterling barked harshly from his place in the corner.

Immediately, the dwarf's face resumed it's impenetrable mask as he continued hammering. Thorin eyed his nearly finished work in distaste. It was a sword, but unlike any other that he had seen in his time walking Middle-Earth. It was his creation, and he loathed it.

The blade was made from the finest Obsidian (or so the Easterling's called the rock he held at his fingers) mined from the Mountains at the furthest reach of the Far East. Thorin had worked the stone following the directions passed on to him acquiescing to it's unusual design, and he had to admit to himself, that he had never seen a sword more beautiful, yet menacing.

There was no single or double edge on the blade. The Sachem had specifically ordered a sword that was shaped like that of the horn belonging to a great sea beast, living in the oceans off the North of Arda. It's blade spiraled upwards in an unfailingly sharp edge until it finished in a point, sharper and more deadly than he had ever seen before.

The hilt was made from the finest steel. It was bigger than what he usually looked for in a sword, but then again, it was made for a man, not a dwarf. It's overall design was plain and angular, but he had been unable to resist working intricate etchings into the pommel and guard. To finish his creation, Thorin had wrapped leather around the grip in order to soften the coldness of the metal. He realised at the close, that he had so lost himself in the joy of crafting, that he had forgotten it's purpose; and as he glued the last of the leather down, Thorin bit back a snarl at his own stupidity.

Finally, when he could put it off no longer, he turned to his captor. "I am done." Thorin said curtly, stepping back from his workbench as the Easterling Skøldjor called for more guards. He eyed the sword as it's deep black, almost blue blade glinted menacingly in the firelight. His captors casted shadows over it as they entered, dragging him out and taking the sword as well.

As he was pulled towards the throne room once more, Thorin barely noticed the whips of his guards as he held exhaustion at bay. His own regret stung him far more than any whip ever could.

* * *

Hlífhrím had to close her swollen eyes as she and Rorik were dragged through the many halls and into the throne room (although, it might not have been the throne room for all she knew for she could barely see). Three weeks in utter darkness had made her eyes sensitive to the light, and the flames of the many torches all around burned and almost sent her writhing in pain.

"Ahhh, so here are the rest of my little troublesome trio." the voice of the Sachem pounded into her head like a rock fall.

There was a scuffle somewhere to her right as she and Rorik were thrown to the hard ground. "What have you done to them?!" A voice that Hlífhrím immediately knew to be Thorin's hissed somewhere to her right. She turned her head in the direction of his voice and almost sighed in relief. So he was alive still, and obviously still not found out. When she tried to open her eyes, Hlífhrím had to quickly shut them once more, it was too, bright. Far too bright, and she couldn't help the whimper of pain that escaped from between her lips.

She could only imagine what she looked like; covered in muck that might or might not be her own, her eyes red-rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep. She could feel the bones that had begun to show more prominently on her body from the lack of nourishment. Her hair was definitely lank filthy and covered in grime - it probably no longer even looked red. Not a pretty picture over all.

"I did as I said," the Sachem's voice suddenly boomed around them, before turning to drip with venom, "Not that it is any place of yours to question my actions _dwarf. _Perhaps I should let you experience the very fate that your comrades did and dull the sharpness of your tongue a little."

There was silence after that, but Hlífhrím could almost feel the heat from the furious glare that Thorin was obviously, barely holding back. She almost started in fright when the Sachem called for a guard to bring forward Thorin's creation - whatever it was.

From the hum of approval that came from the man, he obviously liked what Thorin had made.

His offer made her gasp in surprise. "And why would I choose to become your own, personal weapons maker." Thorin's voice was filled with contempt that would be easily heard by any ear. Hlífhrím's heart began to pound at the sound, afraid for him. The dark-haired dwarf was far too close to pushing uncross-able boundaries.

"I could cut out your tongue for speaking to me as such, for a dwarf does not need a tongue to work," the Sacham hissed back in anger, "But I will tell you this. You would have more freedoms, as long as your work was as worthy as this; and there would be considerable other...perks if it was desired. You would not be the first to take such a role, others have gone before you."

Hlífhrím could feel the slide of the man's eyes in her direction; and the touch of his gaze upon her made her shiver in disgust. There was silence for a moment and Hlífhrím froze with the thought that Thorin might actually consider the man's offer. Finally, he replied, his voice beginning soft before steadily growing louder, "If you think, for one second, that I would ever; EVER live to betray my people then you are wrong, _Sachem,_" he practically spat the word. "I would not play pet to you or any of your foul people even if it meant the choice between life or death!"

Hlífhrím shook her head in terror, trying to open her eyes once more, but failing miserably. Dwarves were useful and never overly harmed so as not to hurt their work performance, but Thorin had just crossed a line; and her heart constricted in fear.

She couldn't quite grasp what was happening, but there was a scuffle from the direction Thorin's voice had been coming from and she immediately knew that the Easterlings had descended from him. It was the sudden sound of almost maniacal laughter that broke her from her fearful reverie; laughter that was coming from the pale haired dwarf beside her.

Rorik was laughing. Softly at first but louder and louder until his howls of hollow mirth echoed about the hall.

"And what, I ask, is so funny _dwarf?_" the Sachem's deadly voice turned to the dwarf next to her as the room fell silent.

It was only once Rorik's mad laughter finally ceased into quiet shudders that he finally spoke. "Have you ever thought on death Sachem?" he said, almost as if to a friend, "I have thought on it, more often than you I would wager. But the thing is, I know I will outlive you, and that is what is so funny."

Hlífhrím turned her head in his direction, her mouth gaping open in shock. Perhaps some sickness had gotten into both of their systems to make them crazy enough to talk as they were talking. But apparently, Rorik had not finished and he began, oddly enough to count, his voice echoing about the hall, "Five, four, three, two-"

"Guard's kill him!" the Sachem called furiously the sound of his chair scraping back announcing to Hlífhrím that he had stood in anger. "Kill them both!"

Hlífhrím was shoved roughly aside and her head hit the ground with a crack as the Easterling behind her drew his sword. "One..." Rorik said, almost quietly; before the light behind Hlífhrím's eyes suddenly grew brighter and the sound of an explosion echoed throughout the throne room. The very walls of the hall shook with the force of sound and rock and stone began to fall. "Boom."

* * *

**A/N: HAPPY EASTER PEOPLE! (Even if you do not celebrate it) Sorry this chapter's a little bit late! Wishing lots of scrummy (and completely unhealthy, yet delecatable) troves of chocolate Easter Eggs and Bunnies to all my dear readers!**

**This week's picture is Sachem! And next week is...Hlífhrím's family! DUN DUN DUN! Who will be next? You decide!**

**Thanks to all those that favourited and followed. Massive thanks to ****_LadyDunla_****, ****_L. C. Doyle_****, ****_MrsEMJC_****, ****_Valeria Snape_****, ****_Gaia-drea_****, ****_DeadheadDaisy_****, ****_kaia_****, ****_RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_****, ****_harrylee94_****, ****_wellwithmysoul_**** and ****_Teres_**** for reviewing! Thank you all so much! Your support is very, very much appreciated my friends. :)**


	12. Rín

The ringing that filled her ears pulsed through Hlífhrím's head like a chisel breaking apart stone. Blind and deaf. Not a good combination in the middle of a battlefield, for that was what the throne room had turned into of sorts, from what she could feel. Feeling utterly useless, and terrified at her own inability to even protect herself, Hlífhrim curled into a ball and tried to figure out what to do.

The sound that burst on her ears sent chills up her spine. It was the deep bellow of a horn, calling for what Hlífhrím did not know, but something was very wrong. Very wrong. Just as she began working her bound hands behind her back; desperately trying to undo the twisted knots of cord, a hand wrenched the back of Hlífhrím's tunic and hauled her to her feet roughly. Her response was immediate as she kicked and thrashed like a wild animal as she was dragged somewhere into darkness. She could still feel the battle going on around her and her hearing began to return with a roar.

As she was dragged further and further into the darkness, the pain in her light-deprived eyes slowly began to dim and all at once she found herself able to hear and see. "I said, let go!" Hlífhrím snarled as she tried once more to wrestle free of her captor. Before whoever, or whatever it was could react, she slammed her head back into the head of her attacker, noting the satisfying crunch of bone and yelp of pain that followed. A very dwarven yelp of pain for that matter...

Hlífhrím whirled around in horror, only to find herself face to face with a bloodied and dirt-streaked Thorin Oakenshield, Once-King Under the Mountain.

* * *

The Dwarven Halls of Ered Luin felt as cold and empty as the night outside in Durin's mind. No fires burned in the hearths and no other living soul breathed the dim air. Slowly, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would have been like in the time of his forefathers. When he opened them, a shroud of light had descended upon the room and he could almost see the dwarves of long ago as they ate and drank and made merry.

"My Lord Durin?" the deep voice broke his concentration and pulled Durin back to the present moment with the familiar unwanted slam of reality.

The dwarf sighed, "Yes Hallmund?"

"A messenger has arrived from the South," the fair-haired man frowned, "you are needed immediately in the lower halls."

Durin's brows constricted as he made to follow his friend, "What has happened?" he asked worriedly.

"I do not know," Hallmund shook his head, his voice grim "But it does not bode well whatever it is."

The pair made their way down through the stone halls, as quickly as possible. The warmth in the air growing more apparent until finally, they appeared in the final hall, lit from every angle with torches.

The other leaders of the free peoples of middle earth were already there. Gálmód, King of the Mark, ruler of the Horse Lords - men who had once belonged to the plains of Rohan; stood with his council and the far corner of the hall, his craggy face darkened with worry. Túrin, son of Arónor, King of those who had once stood beneath the white tree of Gonor, stood with his men in the center of the hall, pacing back and forth.

The Exiled Lord of Gondor was the first to notice the dwarf and the man of Dale enter. "My Lord Durin," he called out as soon as his dark eyes spotted the pair, inciting the rest of the eyes in the hall to turn to him, "A messenger has just brought news from the Gap!"

The Gap, once known as the Gap of Rohan in times long before; was the main gateway between land held by the Free Peoples of Middle Earth and the Lands controlled by the Easterlings. In the years following the _Scourge_, as the takeover by the Easterlings was known; a great wall was built between the Gap, to keep either side, out from the other's territory. It had taken twenty years and many lives for the wall to be built. The Free Peoples manned their side, and the Easterlings manned theirs.

"What news?" Durin asked, his sudden fears making his voice cold and emotionless.

Gálmód was the next to speak up, "The messenger tells that the Easterlings are amassing an army on the other side of the wall, as we are now we will not be able to repel an attack." The man said, his deep voice deadpan. "I am afraid, that war may have come on us, whether we like it or not."

* * *

Rorik's mad countdown was, Thorin decided, both his salvation and his demise. The pure chaos that followed was nothing short of astounding. The only time he had ever seen fire like what he had just witnessed, was when the dragon Smaug had overrun Erebor.

For a moment, the memories surfaced in Thorin's mind and he readied himself for the great beast that was surely to come. But there was nothing; except for falling rock and debris that sent Easterling Guards scattering for cover. It was then that it started, the roar of tramping feet and fighting growing ever louder.

The last thing Thorin consciously noticed before Goblins, Easterlings and Dwarves - armed with pickaxes; burst through the doors, was Hlífhím drop to the floor, her eyes still tightly closed; before his body acted on instinct and all faded into oblivion.

A smallish Orc lunged at him in one sudden move and he ducked to miss the blow it's sword would have landed on his skull. In a moment, said Orc was lying on the floor amongst the steadily piling bodies, it's sword in his hand. From then, Thorin let all of his rage, frustration and despair pour into the fight. There was so much he did not know or understand about everything that was happening to him, but this, this he did understand. This he knew.

The bodies around him piled higher and slowly, he began to lose himself, not entirely aware of anything but the feel of the crude sword in his hand slicing through flesh. The sound of a horn, blown from somewhere else within the deep, echoed throughout the throne-room and suddenly, all the dwarves still standing were scrabbling for any exit they could find.

Quickly, Thorin became aware that if he did not move with them, he would be the only one left standing in there. It would be better by far, to follow the others. One quick glance around the room and he noticed that a certain, mad, pale-haired dwarf had disappeared, but his red-haired companion had not.

Hlífhrím was still curled up on the floor, her hands feebly attempting to do something to the ropes that tied her hands together. With a grunt of exertion as he quickly felled an Easterling that had the misfortune to run in his direction, Thorin stalked across the room towards her. It seemed he had not been the only one to notice her flailing and another Orc slunk towards the red-haired dwarf; it's face twisted into a malicious snarl. A look that turned to terror one moment before it's body dropped to the floor, it's head rolling off further down the hall.

Casting his eyes about the room, Thorin noticed one of the smaller alcoves etched into the wall and in one move, pulled Hlífhrím to her feet by the back of her shirt and began dragging her in that direction. A task that in no way, did she make easy.

The red-haired dwarf kicked and snarled, thrashing about like a wild animal as he shoved her through the darkness ahead of him. Thorin growled under his breath. It was hard enough for him to see where he was going and direct them away from the carnage behind them without her adding to his problems.

It happened so quickly, and he was so busy watching where they were going that he didn't have time to move out of her way when she slammed her head back. Thorin simply stared at Hlífhrím (who it seemed had begun to recover from her blindness as her eyes were now wide orbs) in a mixture of shock, confusion, and dare he admit it, amusement. "You broke my nose!" he exclaimed, if a little thickly, blood pouring from his now throbbing nose.

Hlífhrím just stared back at him in shock, her mouth hanging open in horror, "I thought you were someone...something, else." she finally replied faintly, by way of explanation.

Thorin glared at her as he wiped a sleeve across his lip, wincing as it brushed his now-purple nose. "Do I look like something else to you?" he growled, more than a little miffed. One hundred and fifty-two years living, Mahal only knew how many dead, and not once had he managed to break a single bone in his body. Along comes a female and BAM just like that, breaks his nose. The icing on the cake was that he was doing the honourable thing and saving them both, rather than just himself.

"Well you didn't say anything!" Hlífhrím snapped back at him, "You could have been an Orc for all I knew! Dragging me off without a word!"

"Well that's the last time I try and save your life then." Thorin growled, his brows constricting in a frown as he gingerly lifted a hand to assess the damage to his face. The tall dwarf winced when his fingers made contact and he quickly moved them away.

Hlífhrím's expression softened a little, and with a sigh, she turned to the side and gestured to her bound hands, "Would you untie me please, you're going to need someone to fix your nose for you if you want to be able to breathe."

Thorin eyed her suspiciously for a moment before he shifted his hold on the Orc-sword and freed her with one swift cut. Almost as if she were approaching a wild animal, Hlífhrím came towards him, her hands raised passively.

The red-haired dwarf placed one hand on either of his shoulders and studied her handiwork, biting her lip in contrition. Her eyes met his for a moment before they immediately flickered back down, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. "Sorry about doing...that to you," she muttered, "Have you ever seen anyone get a broken nose reset before?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and he stiffened as Hlífhrím moved her hands from his shoulders to his cheeks. It was not something he had experienced before, being touched as such. He had long since forgotten the feel of gentleness. "No." he grunted in reply, seriously considering grabbing her hands, moving them very, very far away, and living with a permanently broken nose.

"I've had to do it before - Ejnar broke his nose once, mining accident and I just happened to be nearby." Hlífhrím babbled, her hands sliding gently up his cheeks to rest either side of his heavily throbbing nose. It was ironic, that a dwarf such as she should have so light a touch. "What I'm going to do is I'm going to count down from three and then-"

Thorin's roar of pain cut her off as she quickly cracked his nose back into place, "I thought you said you were going to count down!" Thorin stared at her incredulously, stepping quickly away from any furthur hurt her fingers might have in store and grinding his teeth in an attempt to hold back the watering of his eyes (purely reflexive though it was).

Hlífhrím simply shrugged and smiled smugly back at him. "In my experience, the suspense would have been unbearable, and you would have made some excuse not to have it set back in place." she said, ignoring the glare he shot in her direction.

It did seem though, when Thorin pressed a tentative hand to his face, that he was able to once more touch his nose, and it was, as far as he could tell, not much more different in shape than before. Begrudgingly, he nodded to the red-haired dwarf, "Thankyou." he muttered. As soon as he had wiped most of the blood from his face, Thorin actually looked at the female dwarf standing before him.

When she had first been brought into the Sachem's throne room she had looked worse, far worse than the first time he had seen her. Her eyes had been red and swollen shut; and even now in the darkness, although they were now open, he could still see how red-rimmed they were. There was a yellowing bruise on her left cheek, and he could not think of seeing anyone more dirty in his entire life.

"Hlífhrím," he said, trying out her name on his tongue for what felt like the first time. It must have indeed, been the first time he had referred to her by name, for the red-haired dwarf jumped in surprise "What happened, when you, and Rorik were taken?"

Hlífhrím shrugged not meeting his eye, "Nothing much," she mumbled in reply, "We were only thrown in a cell so dark you couldn't see the walls. Nothing drastic. What of you? What was this task he was talking of that you had done?"

Thorin's face immediately darkened into a scowl when he realised with a start that she had not seen the sword he had made. "I do not wish to speak of it." he said curtly, turning his back to her and peering off into the direction they had been headed before his nose had been broken. Another bang echoed throughout the little passage, and the two dwarves crouched further down to the ground, tentatively looking up for any sign of falling rocks.

With a sigh, Thorin glanced back at his companion, noticing the way her pupils had dilated in fear, although her face displayed no other sign of emotion. "I think Hlífhrím, we should continue moving. If you are able." he added, catching the stubborn look in her eye with a nod of his head. "Although I have no notion of where this leads. Do you?"

The red haired dwarf frowned apologetically and shook her head. "No," she said, "I do not. But I also think we should continue on, whatever was back there, is no place for us."

"Very well, we continue forwards." Thorin replied, his face grim. He had not taken more than two steps when Hlífhrím spoke up once more.

"Rín."

Confused, Thorin turned back to her and saw her standing unmoving in the same spot she had been in moments ago. "What do you mean 'Rín'?" he asked.

Hlífhrím studied him quietly for a moment, her green eyes almost seeming to assess him, "You may call me Rín."

Thorin merely stared at her contemplatively, before he shifted with a subtle nod of his head, "Very well, let us go then," he answered, "Rín."

* * *

**A/N: Well firstly, I would like to say sorry for the delay that I had in putting up the pic of the Sachem of Erebor. It's up now, likewise, this week's image is a picture of Hlífhrím's family. Now, who would you all like to see next week? :)**

**Also, this week's picture feels a little shoddy, so it may be edited :)**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers _Gaia-drea_, _snittycakez_, _tempella_,_ LadyDunla_, _Shadow fang the black wolf_, _UK Reader_, _L. C. Doyle_, _RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_, _Deadhead Daisy_, and _MrsEMJC_. Also, thanks to those that have followed and favourited. Much appreciated my friends! :)**

**I'd especially like to know what you think of this week's chapter. Bit nervous actually :/**


	13. Out of the Mountain

Hlífhrím's bones seemed like they were constantly cracking at the joints as she walked, and she felt as though she had been pummeled all over. Over a week cooped up in cell seemed to tend to to that to a person.

She had no idea how long they had been walking through the darkness. Shouts and Orc-cries could be heard echoing down the passage-ways and alcoves that they passed. Whatever had been happening before continued now. More than once, an Orc had come shrieking out of the darkness only to be cut down by Thorin.

Hlífhrím watched him with anxiety every time. In a different situation, the way he fought and dispatched each and every one of their opposers with apparent ease, would have been almost terrifying. Now, she was glad for his skillful brutality. Her eyes were wide, fearful saucers as they came upon a horde of three goblins - the largest number yet, and they attacked.

She had never seen someone fight the way Thorin did - with such a calm, collected head. Calculating every move as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Hlífhrím envied him and cursed her own uselessness. No one had ever taught the younger dwarves about fighting or protecting oneself, the only thing she had to work with was instinct.

As the trio of goblins descended on them with a cacophony of cries and shrieks, Hlífhrím shrank back. Thorin exchanged blows with the first and pushed her further behind him, almost protectively. Her lips were pursed in a thin line of fright and frantically, as she scrabbled against the wall of the passage-way, Hlífhrím's fist closed about the hardness of a rock.

With a cry of bravado, she leaned around her protector and flung the rock viciously in the direction of their attackers. As it turned out, she was a rather good shot, the rock bouncing off the third goblin's forehead as it crumpled to the ground.

When Hlífhrím finally faced her companion, he was staring at her, one eyebrow raised and the faintest glimpse of a smirk etched across his features. In one moment the look disappeared, to be replaced with his usual brooding expression.

"Quickly," Thorin said sharply, already moving off once more into the darkness, "We must keep moving."

Hlífhrím immediately followed, part of her turning back to the thought that had been plaguing her for the entire time they had been within the deep. They could well be walking in circles, she had no idea what direction they were going in, whether they were going down or up, or whatever other possibility there was.

From what she had seen as they had continued through the alcoves, the passageway definitely went somewhere, but where had so many possibilities and options that it was mind numbing. What was to happen if they were to come across a large horde of Orcs and Goblins? There would be no hope for them then.

Suddenly, Thorin stopped in front of her, and Hlífhrím, ever the observant, didn't notice, bumping her nose against the back of his tunic as she continued walking. Her jaw tensed with nervousness as her turned back on her with a glare. "What is it?" she whispered hoarsely.

Thorin frowned, "Something is ahead, listen." he said, and immediately, she fell silent. The only sound to be heard, the thudding of her own heart in her ears. But then, there it was, the faint sound of leather against skin and stone, and the heavy tramp of boots echoing off the walls.

"What are we going to do?" Hlífhrím hissed, desperately trying to keep the quake of fear from her voice. It wouldn't do her any good to have the Once-King see her afraid.

"I do not know." Thorin scowled, "There is nothing we can do, no where we can hide."

Hlífhrím bit her lip as she tried to think of a way around their predicament. Unable to think of any better idea, she quickly bent down and grabbed a stone, clutching it tightly in her hands. Her eyes met his almost daring him to tell her to back down.

Thorin stared at her for a moment, his grey eyes almost black in the darkness, "Get behind me then, you will be no use in close quarters." he said brusquely, "Use your rocks when you get a chance, and when they come, be ready."

Hlífhrím swallowed heavily, her breath suddenly caught in her throat. Her palms were sweating and she had to wipe them covertly on her tunic once or twice when her hand's began to loose their hold on the stone she was holding.

The tramp of feet steadily grew louder and louder, until finally, the horde rounded the corner and Hlíhrím froze. The entrance of the passageway was filled from what she could make out in the darkness. With a roar, Thorin was the first to lunge at them and swords clashed against one another. The knot in her stomach tightened and she let fly her first stone. Before it had even made contact, another rock was in her hand.

"Oww. Stop everyone, stop!" the voice broke through her clouded mind with a start, and Hlífhrím stopped in her tracks. The goblin whom she had hit, pulled back it's helmet, and in the dimness, she just barely made out the face of the very dirty young dwarf underneath.

"Nannulf?" Hlífhrím breathed, before suddenly dropping her stone and launching herself at her young friend and capturing him in a hug. When she spotted the old dwarf behind him, she did the same to him, "Geir!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Thorin had stopped fighting and had pulled away, still watching warily. "I am glad you are well Rín, we were not told of your whereabouts." another member said, stepping forward. "We thought you might have fallen in the throne room."

"Ivarr?" Rín gaped, and her forge partner pulled back his goblin helmet with a faint smile.

"Oh don't be stupid Ivarr. She was obviously going to be fine. Rorik probably told her what was going on." another voice scoffed, and she turned in the other direction. _Viljmar was there? _

"Ivarr, really, get with the times old man." another voice joked. _Vigdis as well?_

Hlífhrím gritted her teeth in annoyance, "No I knew nothing of this!" she snapped, her temper rising at being so uninformed. "What happened? Why are you all dressed like this? How many of you are there?"

By then, every member of the 'horde' had drawn back their helmets and Rín could see many faces she knew and many she did not. It was all too confusing, too much was happening all at once. Quickly, she cast a glance back at her protective companion who was currently glaring at the others, his face dark and brooding.

"We do not have time for this!" Another dwarf snapped, stepping forward. Ása glared at the two newcomers, her blue eyes sharp and calculating. "We must move now - you can discuss this later - that is, unless you do not wish to come with us."

Rín glared at the other female. She and Ása had never quite seen eye to eye. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice hard

Ása smiled viciously, baring her teeth in response, "We are about to do what none have done successfully before. Escape the depths of Erebor." she said, her eyes glinting in the darkness, "Alive."

* * *

Thorin's breath was heavy as he and the other dwarves tramped through the passageways. They had been given extra armour from the dwarves they had come across and the helmet and added leather on his body, made the air stifling where one would have thought it to be cold. Mayhap he was not as stout as he had once been; the death-sleep he had woken from probably had something to do with that. The Heart of the Mountain still poked into his skin beneath his under-tunic on odd occasions, offering some small measure of comfort.

He did not trust these dwarves in the slightest, there was too much secrecy between them. Even this newfound truce with Hlífhrím - Rin, had been shaken when they had met with the others. The blonde siblings (whom he had recognised) had cemented a thought in his mind. All this, was to do with Rorik. The pale-haired dwarf was the cause of the battle that rumbled above and around them. Thorin's eyes narrowed and silently, he seethed.

* * *

Rín watched the tall dark-haired dwarf stalk down the passage in front of them, she noted the way his shoulders were hunched and still. The Once-King was definitely _not_ happy. "Nannulf," she hissed to the dwarf she had practically raised. "You've got to tell me what's going on, just a little bit at least - so I know what to expect!"

The youngling bit his lower lip, and cast a quick glance behind them, making sure Ása wasn't listening. She had ordered silence, and seemingly, as cousin of the master schemer, everyone had obeyed her. "All I know is that these are the service passages throughout the mountain. The dwarf out the front is the navigator, he knows these tunnels." he whispered back, his voice low, "We are headed to the East entrance of the Mountain. Dressed as goblins we will slip through and then split up when we reach the outside."

Rín blinked in surprise, she had never heard anything so simple, yet bizarre in her life. "How are we supposed to just 'slip by them' as you say?" she whispered furiously in reply, "Won't they notice we're not exactly the same species?!"

Nannulf shook his head slightly, "No, we've passed several companies already," he whispered, his voice becoming lower when he noticed Ása looking suspiciously in their direction. The youthful dwarf smirked triumphantly at her beneath his helmet, his face dirty, but his eyes gleaming "They're not exactly the brainiest of the bunch - only Snaga really, seems all the Morannon's are up in the fray itself."

"You, quiet there!" Ása hissed in their ears, giving them both a shove as she suddenly appeared behind them. "No talking unless I say so."

Hlífhrím growled and shoved the other female back roughly with her own shoulder, "Just because I am following does not mean you shove me Ása." she spat, glaring at her, "Following you does not make me your leader."

The dark-haired dwarf's eyes narrowed at her and she pulled a face, her lip curling back over her teeth, but she made no move to push her again. Hlífhrím shifted the armour on her shoulders and turned to face forwards once more.

The sounds of battles raging above and around them was steadily growing louder as the dwarves steadily tramped upwards. Hlífhrím clutched at the crude goblin-sword in her hand nervously, wrapping and re-wrapping her fingers about the hilt. Finally, the navigator, as Nannulf had called him, and whom Hlífhrím did not recognise, held his hand up and the company pulled to a halt.

"Round that bend, and you will come out into the main passageway of the East entrance to Erebor." he said, his deep voice quiet, "Night has fallen on Middle-Earth, and from there, you are on your own. Once you are out, you will have to get past any sentries and head for the lands controlled by the Free Peoples if you want the best chance of surviving. Mahal be with you all."

With that, the dwarf shifted his sword in his hand and moved quickly and quietly up the way he had motioned. The remaining dwarves grumbled quietly to each other for a moment. It had been over ninety years since many had left the caves. Hlífhrím immediately grabbed Nannulf's arm and pushed him closer to Geir. Almost nervously, she tugged on Thorin's tunic sleeve and when his gaze turned on her, she motioned her head towards the two she considered her only family.

"Would you come with us?" she asked quietly, imploringly, "I do not know what it is you want from this life you have been given, but I would ask that you come with us."

Thorin stared at her with that unfathomable look on his face, "It would be better if we travelled in small groups." he said finally and Hlífhrím rolled her eyes.

"Four is not very large." she scoffed, her temper beginning to rise. Gritting her teeth, and swallowing her pride, she continued on, "Besides, I do not know how to use this," she swung the rusty blade in her hand in front of his face, "and neither does Nannulf. Geir, for all he is a warrior has not picked up a weapon for many years as well. We need you. At least for a small while."

Thorin blinked at her, his already cloudy face growing darker. Just when Hlífhrím had given up and was about to turn back, he answered, "Very well, I will accompany you." he said, his deep voice quiet, "Rín."

Hlíhrím almost smiled in surprise but remembered their predicament. Sagely, she nodded and cast her eyes about the room which had steadily been emptying of dwarves. Ása had long since disappeared. Vigdis and Viljmar were with Ivarr, almost ready to leave and the three nodded to her as they prepared to take their flight from the cave. "Mahal keep you safe." Vigdis and Viljmar said in unison, with the uncanny ability only twins have.

"May luck be on your side Hlífhrím." Ivarr added, "On all of your sides."

"And you my friends." Rín said with a sad smile, as she took each of their arms and rested her forehead against their's in farewell. "I _will_ see you once more."

With that, the three slipped from the alcove and Hlífhrím turned back to her own company. Thorin stared at her, his gaze impenetrable, "Are you ready?" he asked, as Nannulf shifted his stance awkwardly, already sagging a little under the weight of his armour and other items.

Rín nodded and looked to Geir for confirmation, "We go the long way or the short way?" she asked, knowing the old dwarf would catch her drift.

Geir stared at her for a moment with his one good eye before replying, "Long." came the answer.

"Very well. We travel North as soon as we are out of the caves." Rín said firmly, looking between the other two. "As soon as you are out, run."

Something like annoyance flashed in Thorin's eyes for a moment before it disappeared and he nodded, Nannulf did the same nervously. Rín squashed her nervousness and put a comforting hand on the young dwarf's arm. "Quickly." was all she said before she spun on her heel and began to thread between the passageways.

Hlífhrím rounded the corner and sprinted for the open night sky that loomed ahead of her. Large stones were littered about the entrance and it was only as she jumped over one and saw the pair of sightless eyes staring back at her, that she realised they weren't stones at all, but bodies. Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, she pushed on harder, straining her leg muscles to stretch and run faster.

One stride further and she was out into the open air. Rín had one moment, for the first time in many years, to see the white lights of stars blinking in the darkened sky; before a cloud of smoke passed over them. Fires danced around them, arrows flew through the air, a sword swung in her direction and the world she thought she knew descended into chaos.

* * *

**A/N: MWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAH *cue evil author chuckle***

**There was something important I was going to put here...and I have completely forgotten what it was...Oh well...**

**Yeah...about the running, I always just remember that scene in LotR where Gimli says 'We dwarves are sprinters!' *chuckle* and well, they run in the Hobbit too, so there you go :P**

**Anyway, I've got a double whammy for you all today to go along with this SUPER LONG CHAPTER ;) Tonight's pictures are... *drum roll* Durin VII, and The Sword that Thorin made. Extra, bonus information to those that are interested (and which may have an impact later in the story *wink, wink*) - The sword's name is Hjírrdlát (Huh-jii-d-lat) meaning 'sword of death' (from two different Norse words, probably not 100% correct, but I liked the sound of it all the same :P). Links are on my profile :)**

**Massive thanks to ****_Shadow fang the black wolf_****, ****_LadyDunla_****, ****_Gaia-Drea_****, ****_MrsEMJC_****, ****_lucife56_****, ****_RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_****, ****_Dereklover89_****, ****_Deadhead Daisy_****, ****_UKReader_****, ****_L. C. Doyle_****, ****_harrylee94_****, and my mysterious '****_Guest_****' (I am assuming you are the same person, if not, oh well) whom I couldn't reply to personally...shall do so below...LOVE ALL YOU GUYS! :) x**

**_Guest:_**** Hahah have I rendered you speechless have I? :P Well I'm not sure, I'm not planning on depressing anyone and I enjoy a happy ending as much as the next, but I honestly don't have a fixed ending in my head (do have a vague idea though). So can I make a half promise? :P Thanks so much for your reviews! **

**_MrsEMJC:_**** Ahhhhhh the wizards...you shall see, you shall see! I have plans upon plans upon plans ;) Ahhh the dreaded caves...well, they're out now so I guess your wish has come true! Thanks so much for your review! :)**


	14. The Sleeting Cold

Rín sat huddled amongst the tall grey rocks of the mountainside, her arms crossed protectively over her chest as she tried to conserve warmth. Her teeth chattered as an icy wind howled around her. The deep grey thunderclouds booming overhead with ill-intent, and flashes of lightning licking like flames throughout the sky. It seemed that Middle-Earth itself reflected the bleakness of her soul.

_Rín ducked instinctually, hearing the faint whistle of an arrow fly past her helmet before it embedded itself in the body of the goblin that had attacked her. Without a second thought, she leaped over it's body and risked a look over her shoulder at her companions, skidding to a halt._

_Thorin and Geir were nowhere to be seen, but Nannulf stood near the entrance of the caves, unmoving, a look of pure terror on his face. It was then that she remembered he had never seen such death and destruction. Rín ground her teeth and swallowed her fear, sprinting back towards him. There was no way he would last another five seconds if he didn't get down. _

_"Nannulf!" Rín screamed as she ran towards him, "Move!" It was if she had forgotten the rest of her language, all that was left inside her were words of fear and the imperativeness of the situation. _

_It seemed though, that that was all the young dwarf needed to shake himself out of his terror. "Rín!" Nannulf exclaimed, grabbing her hand and nearly jerking her arm from it's socket as he continued on his flight, barely pausing as he reached her. "I heard them- in the caves-" he gasped for breath. "More-"_

_Rín's blood ran cold. There was no way they could afford to wait and look for Thorin and Geir, if what she thought was to happen was going to; as much as it tore her apart to make the decision, "More of who?" she asked hoarsely, not daring to pull him to a halt as they continued on. Slipping past fights and dodging blows as they went._

_"More of them!" Nannulf said frantically, his blue eyes wide with fear, "They are coming, and we will be outnumbered!"_

A ragged cough escaped Rín's throat as she pulled the heavy armour around her tighter, it's padding offering some small measure of comfort from the cold. Her nose was beginning to run and absentmindedly, she wiped it with her dirty sleeve. She had long since forgotten what niceties were.

"We couldn't even start a fire if we had the materials, could we?" Nannulf suddenly asked, his voice glum. Rín looked over at her only companion and saw the way his face had greyed and his blue eyes dulled. All the dwarrow's youthfulness was seemingly gone. Giving a tightlipped smile, she pushed aside her own warmth and shifted closer, drawing him against her.

"No we would not. It would be too dangerous." she said bluntly. She had always told it to him straight, and there was no way in the name of Sauron that she would light a fire this night and draw their enemy towards them. "But at least we can thank Mahal it is not worse. It is not raining after all."

With that, the heavens opened and it began to pour. Rín sighed, "Of course it is." Nannulf snickered as they immediately scrambled to their feet. Quickly and with an efficiency that came from long years of practice, Rín ran her hand along the dripping rock beside them as they walked, judging the most likely area shelter would lie in. The rain had become so heavy that she could barely see and neither it seemed, could Nannulf, who grabbed the back of her belt in a tight fist of nervousness.

It was when Rín felt the surface of the mountain change in texture and dip, that she suddenly stopped, Nannulf nearly running into her with the unexpected halt. "In here." she said back over her shoulder, "Quickly."

It wasn't a cave or a tunnel their shelter came in the form of, but a tiny outcrop, barely big enough for the two of them to fit under. In the end, the pair had to draw their knees up to their chests in order to prevent their already battered and hole-ridden boots being soaked (more than they already were).

As Rín stared out in the rain, her eyes slowly began to drift shut, even moreso as she tried desperately to keep them open. Finally, with Nannulf's tawny head resting on her shoulder and the rain continuing to pour, she gave way to exhaustion and let sleep claim her.

* * *

A dark cloud still hovered over the sky when Rín blinked her eyes blearily and yawned in waking. Her stiff muscles protested with cold and misuse when she shifted her back against the stone behind her. With a quiet groan, she jostled her companion awake and cricked her neck to the side in an attempt to banish the ache that had settled there.

A whole lot of good their 'shelter' had done the night before, she felt soaked to the bone, and one look at Nannulf (who looked like a drowned rat - honey coloured hair flopping all over his eyes) confirmed Rín's theory that said 'shelter' had not been much 'shelter' at all. Pushing herself out and upward, she carefully took a look around before flipping her hair over her shoulder and wringing as much water from it as possible. That done, she turned back to her companion, who was staring up at her pensively, and smiled.

"Well, we have survived the first test at least." Rín remarked in forced cheerfulness to the young dwarf and offered him her hand which he grasped without hesitation, "That is something to be thankful for at least." she said as she hauled him to his feet.

"Yes." Nannulf replied quietly. Rín almost expected him to add to that statement, but it seemed he had withdrawn into a cocoon of silence. She sighed silently and let him be as they set off, everyone dealt with loss in different ways. Rín fervently hoped that the other members of their faction who had left the depths of Erebor before her, had gotten past.

Each and every body she had passed or stepped over in her haste to disappear into the night, she had stared at. More than once she saw a mane of blonde hair or a mop of brown, and the stone in her heart only grew harder - terrified that she knew the face hidden buried in the mud.

The hopeful part of her reasoned that perhaps Thorin and Geir had simply gone the long way around and they would be catch up to them later. The rational part told her they were buried in the mud with the rest of the fallen. The stone in her heart grew even harder.

It was hard going, along the side of the mountain. They were on constant lookout for Goblins and Orcs or Easterlings. The rocks were deathly slippery, and more than once, the pair had almost fallen. To add insult to injury, it had begun to sleet again, in vicious icy diamonds that stung their cheeks (and upon lowering their helmet visors, stung their eyes instead).

After Nannulf slipped and almost fell over for the eighth time, Rín grumbled until he meekly handed over the old backpack he carried. Shouldering the heavier burden, she noted with approval the way his shoulders slumped in relief (even though he thought it was a covert action that went entirely unnoticed and he made a large show of arguing the point with her).

Rín decided that it was the combination of the weather, the loss of their home and the people they had grown attached to; and the bitterness of freedom, that made them tire faster. So when they finally stumbled to a halt and collapsed into the face of the rock, almost immediately drifting into unconscious, totally oblivious to the weather, it took more than one shrill whistle to jerk her into full alert. The sound was high and loud, bouncing off the walls of the mountain before coming to a ringing stop in her ears.

As Nannulf started to rise in order to take a look where the sound was coming from, Rín quickly pushed him back into the ground as quietly as she could, pressing a finger to her lips to invoke silence from him. Slowly, she raised her head tentatively, to peer over the top of the rock they were hiding behind, and her heart stopped and rose in her throat.

For there, not two-hundred paces away was Thorin, a limping Geir beside him.

* * *

He didn't really know why he had done it. Agreed to follow. Mahal knew, the only people he had ever followed were his father and grandfather. He had only ever been a Prince or King Under the Mountain, not a foot soldier. He was not one that followed, he was one that led. This predicament he was in, was something he did not entirely know how to handle, even though he would never reveal this to another.

So why was it that he had immediately agreed to travel with her and her companions? He reasoned it to himself, that he owed her - this female that brought him back from the dead. Even if this new life had so far been worse than the old - now instead of being an exile away from his home, he was an exile inside it - he would have to pay the debt he owed. His life for hers if need be.

It was more a curse than a blessing he told himself, that he must devote himself to filling his obligation to this female dwarf, before returning to reclaim his Mountain. His only companions were to be an old, seasoned dwarf, who hadn't lifted a sword in almost one-hundred years, and a female and a youngling; both of whom didn't know the pointy end from the blunt one. It would only be a chore to undertake, to ferry them safely out of danger. So why, when he saw her and the boy standing there, looking wet and a little worse for wear, did he feel (entirely against his will) almost...pleased?

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! Here's the next chapter!**

**My logic regarding Rín's understanding of the rock and her ability to essentially 'blindly' find the outcrop is that different stone has a different texture, and as a dwarf she would most probably know them all.**

**As I've been very preoccupied, I haven't been able to do the requested pic for this week - which was Rín and Thorin in goblin gear by _RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_, which will hopefully appear next week. So instead, I offer another one I did ages ago and hasn't been requested - Ása. What would you like to see after that?**

**Dwarrow is a a word invented by Tolkien and is interchangeable with the word 'dwarf', you may see it pop up on occasion when I am tired of 'dwarf this' 'dwarf that' and want to spice things up a little.**

**Thanks to those that followed and favourited. Special thanks to ****_Gaia-drea_****,****_ LadyDunla_****,****_ harrylee94_****, ****_lucife56_****,****_ Teres_****,****_ Shadow fang the black wolf_****,****_ MrsEMJC_****,****_ tempella_****, ****_L. C. Doyle_****,****_ UKReader_****,****_ Suheyla_****,****_ DeadheadDaisy_****,****_ RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan_****, ****_AxMxzainyxfan_**** and my ****_Guest's_**** (I think there was two of you). All your support is very much appreciated and is what keeps me writing in the most horrible of writers block. So thank you :)**

**Sorry it's a shorty this week, but last week you got an extra long one, so please forgive me! Until next time!**


	15. Futile Escape

_The plains stretched far and wide, as far as the eye could see. It was a vast emptiness, with no birdsong or the sounds of animals. All that could be heard was eerie whisper of winds as they whistled through the grass. The nothingness chilled her to the bone. _

Rín sat up suddenly, roused from her fitful sleep, sweat at her brow and the adrenaline from her unusual nightmare still coursing through her. Like the night before, there had been no fire to warm them against the icy winds that nipped at skin through clothes; but now at least she and Nannulf were not alone.

Quietly she stood from her sleeping space and looked down on her two old companions. Nannulf looked even more the boy he was in his sleep, and Geir lost many of the craggy lines around his eyes. Rín's eyes narrowed a little as she surveyed the way his breathing was still laboured, even after she had bandaged the wound at his side.

The old dwarf and the Once-King had come towards them slowly, the former being supported by the latter and obviously struggling to walk. Rín had been frozen for a moment. She almost couldn't believe her eyes, it was too good to be true. Then she had started to run, Nannulf close behind her. Slipping and sliding down the boulders, her steps had faltered and she skidded to a halt when she neared the pair. Geir had been in obvious pain, his lips white and pressed in a thin line, one arm wrapped around Thorin's shoulders as the dark-haired dwarf helped walk him closer.

"Geir!" the cry had torn from her lips before she could stop herself and her eyes widened as she saw the reddish brown colour of blood that marred his hand, pressed to his side to stop the blood from flowing.

It had all become blurry after that, and Rín closed her eyes then just thinking back on it. She did not know how to heal, there had been more blood than she had first realised and at one point her hands had shook so badly that she had almost caused her old friend more hurt than help. Thank Mahal for Thorin. The tall dwarf had stepped in and assisted when it counted most and it was partially thanks to him, mostly thanks to him, that Geir had a fighting chance. His clear head had helped push her through.

"You worry for him." The deep rumbling voice of Thorin himself jerked her from her thoughts. She could see his dark silhouette studying her from the rock across the camp. He had fiercely insisted on watch claiming sleeplessness. "Your anxiousness is understandable. The wound was not a pleasant one."

Rín swallowed and nodded stiffly, for a moment she wondered if it would be wrong of her to go and sit beside him. "Thank you." she said lowly, "For helping him, us. For coming with us."

She could see the other dwarf shift uncomfortably and she almost thought that he would not say anything. "It was my duty," came the quiet reply. "You are kin."

Rín smiled wryly at that, the action feeling unfamiliar on her face. "That we are. In an odd kind of way." she said impishly, taking a moment to delight in this newfound sense of freedom that washed over her. It was such a feeling as she had never known. Boldly, she threw caution on the wind and tramped over to the dark haired dwarf, plonking herself beside him. "Will you tell me of your adventures in the life you lived before?"

It had been a daring move, to be so candid with the Once-King, but Rín had decided that he was perhaps even more alone in this place than she had ever been. It would be good for him to release some of the tension that he obviously felt, still not at ease with this new world, besides, she was curious.

When he still said nothing, several moments later, Rín decided perhaps it would be wise to continue. "I remember my mother telling me, when I was only a youngling, of the great battle of Erebor, where you single handedly struck down the great dragon Smaug and took back our kingdom." she said, almost casually, checking for the dark-haired dwarf's reaction from the corner of her eye "I told her that was impossible, and as I have seen now, you are not the least bit singed, or at least not anywhere that I can see."

Thorin turned to look at her disapprovingly, but she could have sworn she saw what looked like a glint of amusement mixed with the tumultuous blend of other emotions that lay within the depths of his blue-grey eyes. "No. That I am not." he said quietly, "And you were correct. That is nothing like the true events that occurred."

Rín watched him in silence, all attempts at merriment gone when she saw the way his eyes clouded with memories. It was in that moment she realised that she wanted to know, wanted to understand why he was the way he was.

A thought suddenly struck her and she opened her mouth in surprise. "The Arkenstone." Rín whispered, looking up at her companion, "Where is it? Do you still have it? How did you hide it from the Easterlings?"

Something in Thorin's eyes flickered and changed then, and she could see he looked on her with a renewed wariness. Rín let air hiss through her teeth in annoyance, "You think I want the stone?" she spat, seeing red at his arrogant assumption, "I want no part of your little gem, no matter how pretty it is, nor the wizardry that comes from it. I have more important things to worry over, like my people!"

With that, she stood and stormed back to her sleeping spot, her anger pushing away the icy cold as she stubbornly crossed her hands over her chest and turned on her side, away from him. It was not her place to understand a lost King for any matter.

* * *

The Easterling stared out of the Mountain Halls, his blonde hair whisping in front of his blood-splattered face. Plumes of smoke drifted up from the halls in the deep, and from behind him, the stench of death was thick in the air.

"Bwana Skøldjor!" The deep voice of another spoke up, and the blonde man turned, his blue eyes ice-hard. It was one of the Minhion people that stood there, a member of the Easterling tribe characterised by their ebony coloured skin, and the multi-coloured beads that hung from their necks and ears. The Minhion inclined his head before stepping closer, his black eyes devoid of any emotion. "We have found the body of your father in the ruins. You are Sachem now, until the tribes meet."

Skøldjor sucked in another deep breath through his teeth. He had almost expected this, and it was funny even in death, he felt no loss or love for his father. He had always suspected the man had been slightly insane, and he had prepared for this moment ever since his father became the elected Sachem of Erebor.

Every ten years, every Easterling tribe united in what was called a Mæta, a meeting where the new Sachem was elected by the people, from the existing tribal leaders. Of the seven tribes, only one leader became the Sachem, the other six made up his council. If the Sachem were to die unexpectedly, their firstborn would take on the role, until another Mæta could be held and a new Sachem was elected. If the Sachem had no children, then the top general of the Sachem's tribe would take the role.

It was essential to Easterling politics that the Mæta was held as soon as possible. There had been far too many wars between tribes regarding who rightly held the role of the Sachem, and rebellions such as this only made things more difficult. Skøldjor ground his teeth and turned back to the Minhion tribesman, his mind working furiously. The Mæta would have to be held in one of the cities of the Vajördons, his people, as they were also the people of his father.

"Send riders to the other tribes, tell them of the death of the Sachem." Skøldjor said looking the man in the eye, "The Mæta will be held in Roskilde with the rising of the third full moon from now."

The Minhion nodded shortly, "And the rebels?" he asked.

Skøldjor's jaw tightened and his eyes grew hard, "Gather the Goblins and Orcs, the sky is still dark enough for them to travel during the day. The storms will aid them." he said, "Find the rebels and dispose of them. All of them. They will learn the consequences of their actions the hard way."

"But Sachem, what of the mines?" The Minhion asked with a frown.

"Send another message to the Iron Hills," Skøldjor replied, "Tell them to send more dwarves down to us. I want the dead cleared away and burned by dusk."

The Minhion inclined his head as he turned to to the younger man's bidding, "As you wish. Sachem."

* * *

They had been walking for three days, Rín at the head of the company, Nannulf behind her, and Thorin and Geir behind him. The old dwarf had stubbornly refused to let himself set the pace, instead shoving them to move faster.

The four had left the shelter of the Mountain and had begun heading North at first, as planned, but as is the way of things, plans change. The original idea had been to circle around the north of Erebor and then head down past it's Western borders towards the Darkwoods, close to the Misty Mountains.

Now from her vantage point on a rocky outcrop, looking into the distance at the fast-flowing, icy waters of the Old Forest River, Hlífhrím almost regretted that decision. The water came straight down from the ice-capped Grey Mountains and met the River of Erebor at the Long Lake. It was the first time she had seen water, flowing so fast and strongly, even from so far away, and the very sight of it sent shivers down her spine.

"What can we do?" Rín turned to ask the white haired dwarf beside her. Geir frowned and shook his head, unsure. It was the first time that they actually thought of the predicament they were in, for none of them could swim. Dwarves, after all, were not made for such trivial matters as swimming.

It was Thorin that then spoke up, and the tall dwarf frowned at the offending rapids. "I have travelled this river once before, but we followed the current, and none of the materials that were used seem available to us." he said slowly, his eyes flickering to look at each of the others in turn, lingering a moment longer on Rín. She had still not forgiven him for his unwarranted avarice several nights before, and she looked away stubbornly. "We can either travel North along the river, and hope we find a shallow place to cross, although I do not know of one; or we can follow it south and try to take a raft across the Long Lake-"

"No!" Rín snapped, slightly harsher than intended, "That would mean our deaths! By now every Easterling and goblin battalion has been sent after the surviving escapees and we would be caught in a second."

Thorin's eyes flashed and he glared at her, "It was not my suggestion that we go South," he growled, "I was stating our only two options, as you should well know _Hlífhrím_."

Rín hadn't thought it possible, but her eyes narrowed further, "If you had been thinking _Thorin_, you would realise that we have a third option." she spat, "We could head North to the Grey Mountains, but turn East and circle the Iron Hills before heading South, around the Sea of Rhûn."

"Why have we come this far then, only to turn back around!" the tall dwarf exclaimed, his temper evidently heating further. Nannulf and Geir had been thrown from the conversation as Rín bit back at Thorin, disregarding the fact that he was the Once-King.

It was Geir who finally broke through the bickering pair with a loud cough. "Are you two finished now?" he asked gruffly. Rín immediately felt shamed by his gaze, and looked down at her scuffed and worn boots. She could see him sagging slightly on the side where his wound was, and she frowned, worried once more. "Whatever is decided, we should at least head for the Grey Mountains, it would be foolhardy not to do so. Once there we will have more than enough places to hide, and as a youngling, I hunted there. We have a chance if we reach the mountains at least."

Rín shot one last glare at the glowering dark-haired dwarf before sighing and nodding. It was sensible, and perhaps Geir was right. She surmised that they had no more than four days left of food with hard rationing and no one (not even a certain resurrected dwarrow) was exempt from the moodiness that came with hunger.

"So be it, Thorin?" Rín asked turning to the Once-King for his opinion, but he was looking past her, murder in his eyes. Just as she was about to look in the direction of his gaze, she was shoved to the ground next to Geir and Nannulf, Thorin crouching in front of them.

The dark-haired dwarf risked a glance over the boulder in front of them and snarled, drawing his sword as he ducked back down, motioning them to do the same. Rín gulped, she had a very bad feeling about all of this. "Easterlings, not one-hundred paces away. How we did not see them coming I do not know." he growled, when he saw her questioning glance and Rín nodded, shakily drawing her own battered sword, " Maintain a defensive position, let them come to us, on the count of three, - One-"

"Well, well, well, look what we have here. Speaking of several things I never expected to see-" a familiar, mocking voice spoke out from above them.

Blinking out the light of the falling sun, Rín whirled to her feet with a terrified snarl. Her mouth opened in shock and she couldn't help the halting whisper that slipped from her lips, "Rorik..."

* * *

A/N:** Phew, so much to say with this one! Firstly, hope you liked this slightly-longer-than-usual chapter! Secondly, I LOVE YOU GUYS! The reviews for last chapter blew me away (literally, I was lost for a week :P) ****_L. C. Doyle_, _LadyDunla_, _Gaia-drea_, _harrylee94_, _AxMxzainyxfan_, _Remus Hroozley_, _MrsEMJC_, _ladymoonscar_, _Kat_ (formerly known as 'Guest' :P), _UKReader_,_ DeadheadDaisy_, and_ Whispers-Of-Artemis_ that means YOU. Also those of you that joined those that have followed and favourited, thank you also! :)**

**_MrsEMJC_: Hehe, Maaaaaaaybbbeeee ;) Although you and I both know he's going to have a hard time admitting it ;) Yay, it's cool Nannulf reminded you of Fili, I loved his and Kili's characters in the book and the movie. Nawwwww thank you for that lovely encouragement! :') *hugs*. Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you're still enjoying! :) **

**_Kat_: Haha, well I for one am glad you're addicted :P Thanks so much for your review and I'm glad you're enjoying my little story! :)**

**••••••**

**I have decided, (as I am the author :P hehehe) that I am going to expand the ethnicity of Middle-Earth (because quite frankly it is very mono-cultured if you know what I'm saying) hence my description of the Minhion tribesman. THERE WILL BE MORE. In fact, I am going to set up a little competition methinks. The links to the list (and map) of Easterling tribes is on my profile, take a look and guess the ethnicity of each tribe. Each continent (Excluding AUS and NZ) is represented in some form or another. The person who guesses the most/all of the ethnicities of the different tribes correctly, can ask me a question, any question about the story, the world, the characters or the plot and I will answer (even if it has spoilers). I'm not sure if that's a particularly good prize but oh well, it's the best I could come up with! :P**

**You already know the ethnicity of two tribes (Maybe the Haradrims and Khandrims as well if you're really good), Vajördons are Viking-like, and Minhions are based off African tribesman; so there are only five to go...**

******Also, no offense is meant to any nationality with this, Middle-Earth is fantasy (sadly) and I'm only referring to certain parts of history and cultural history with these clues. :)**

**Clues (beware some of them are trick questions!):**

_**Haradrims - Desert Nomads**_

_**Khandrims - Elephant warfare**_

_**Rhûnions - Wagons and crystal balls**_

_**Myrrlions - Feathers and Gold**_

_**Dairlanhims - Inventors of pasta**_

_**Can't wait to see how you all go with this! :D**_

_**•••••**_

**Bwana (Swahili): Lord**

**Mæta (Nordic): Meet, meeting**

**Roskilde: A real Viking city. (I nicked the name, 'cause I'm just THAT awesome ;) ...and it sounded like just the name I needed)**

**If you got through all that...you get a cyber-sticker. GOLD STAR! *thumbs up*! :)**


	16. The Rhûnions

_ "Rorik..."_

"Close your mouth Rín, you will catch flies." The blonde-haired dwarrow said wryly, crossing his arms over his chest and casting a quick glance over his shoulder. "The fight is, for the moment over. In fact, this has gone better than I ever could have hoped."

"But, the Easterlings? How...you betrayed our people?" Rín spluttered still at a loss. Thorin, who was standing beside her, looked about ready to burst from the need to kill the blond dwarf. He was apparently not so covertly looking for the most effective way to climb up the boulder and do so. Without getting killed of course.

"Come down and face me," Thorin roared furiously, positively shaking in fury, "Then we shall see who has the last laugh."

The blonde dwarf simply raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Now why would I do that, Thorin, son of Thrain?" Rorik asked mockingly, "No, I shall not. Why would I wish to fight my kin?"

"So, we are your kin now?" Geir suddenly spoke up, his tired voice wary. "I cannot tell your game Rorik Broadbeam."

Rorik turned slightly to look down at the older dwarf, "You do not need to understand my game Geir, but you do have to play it." he said calmly, the sinking sun casting shadows of light and dark about his face. "Do I have your word you will play?"

"Do not trust him." Thorin spat, his eyes dark with fury. "He is the lowest snake and turncoat."

"We will play." Rín said suddenly, and the tall dark haired dwarf glowered at her. It was reckless, she knew, but there would be no way the four of them could fight off so many Easterlings and survive. Besides, she had never particularly liked Rorik, but Geir was wounded and Nannulf looked like a drowned rat. If he had help to offer, even at a price, she would take it, for the time being.

With a smirk and a nod, the blonde dwarrow turned and gave a shrill whistle that sounded something like a bird. The four dwarves backed themselves up against the boulder as Easterlings three times their number appeared around the nearby rocks.

Rín could see Nannulf shakily holding his goblin sword beside her, his hands lowering and raising alternatively as he tried to hold it's weight. Geir was practically slumped against the rock, unable to stand up alone, and Thorin looked so grim, Rín thought to herself that his face looked almost carved from stone.

Immediately, Rín could see the difference between these Easterlings and the majority of those that had resided within Erebor. Whereas the men of Erebor had either followed two patterns; the first with dark skin and numerous tribal piercings, or the second, with fairer skin than her own and covered in heavy, furs and skins; these Easterlings were different.

For one, their heads were protected by metal helmets that rose to a point above their heads and finished behind their ears. From there, a flap of leather covered their necks and the tops of their shoulders. Each man wore a long tunic that finished just below their knees and had dark brown leggings beneath that, finishing in soft brown boots.

Rín swallowed instinctively as she saw the motley of weapons that faced them. Swords, bows, spears and axes were all pointed in their direction. Each of which she could easily see were in the best possible condition, unlike their stolen Goblin-weapons.

Suddenly, a single Easterling waded through the others that crowded around them and stopped before them. Rín studied him carefully, there was nothing much about him that set him apart from the others, except that he had no weapon drawn. However, two wickedly curved blades hung from either side of his belt. The man had the same weathered face, and deep set brown eyes as the other Easterlings; eyes that studied the four calculatingly.

"What is this?" he asked suddenly, his voice slightly accented in the way he spoke the common tongue. Rín felt Thorin tense beside her as if he were just about to lunge at the man, and quickly, she put a calming hand on his arm in an attempt to hold him back.

"These are some of those I talked of." Rorik replied, only just loud enough for those closest to hear.

The Easterling who was obviously in charge, nodded, a small frown marring his sun-tanned features. "We shall say...?"

"Nannulf, my Sister-son, and Hlífhrím, the daughter of my Mothers sister." Rorik said immediately in reply, gesturing to each in turn and ignoring the quickly masked looks of surprise on all the dwarves faces (or not so quickly masked in the case of Nannulf). "This is Geir, her grandsire and this...I am not entirely sure. Rín?

Hlífhrím glared at Rorik for putting her on the spot, still not entirely sure what his aim was. "He was a friend of my brother's and I have known of him as long as I can remember." She said finally, saying the first thing that came to her mind and glancing across at Thorin who was still watching the Easterlings warily. "He is a miner."

"A miner eh?" Suddenly, as the Easterling appraised Thorin, Rín wished she had thought of something a little more convincing than 'miner'. Indeed Thorin did not project any image other than that of a seasoned warrior. "You said he 'was' your brother's friend?"

"My brother has passed." Rín said automatically her mind working furiously, "It was after his death - in a mining accident, that Thorin and I came to know one another more. He has been my companion ever since, even though his moodiness is hard to live with at times." Quickly, Rín cast a quick glance across at the Once-King and nearly smiled at the bland look he sported. She almost expected him to roll his eyes.

Perhaps it was the touch of humor, or perhaps it was the fact that she had personalised these lies (or half truths - they were not entirely lies. Indeed the only lie there, was that the dead miner she had come across was her brother) but the lead Easterling actually laughed.

"Well met. You are welcome with us and may travel with us as long as you wish, Rorik's kin." the man said, as the blonde dwarf jumped down beside Geir (and far as possible from Thorin, Rín noticed) "and friend." he added, looking to the dark-haired dwarf.

"You have my thanks." Rorik inclined his head towards the Easterling, before turning to face the four, utterly bemused dwarves. "May I present to you my kin; my friend, Meska, chieftain of the the Rhûnion people."

* * *

It was not half an hour later that Rín saw the home of the Rhûnion people for the first time. The dwarves and their Easterling escorts had tramped through the darkness, until, finally, lights began to flicker ahead of them, like the lamps that rose from the mines.

The four dwarrows grouped closer together warily, as the Easterling leader, Meska, gave another, loud bird-like whistle. Rín's eyes widened in amazement when she finally saw the great wagons gathered in a circle, and the massive horses that grazed contentedly in the dark. The sounds of lively music rising into the night air screeched to a halt as the men and dwarves drew closer to the bonfire that burned brightly in the circle of wagons.

A cry went up from the Easterlings there, and suddenly, they were surrounded by more humans. Rín blinked in surprise as children came running for fathers and husbands bent down to kiss their wives. It was not something one thought of when they looked at their enemy. It was a shock to see the people she'd grown up being taught to hate, acting just as she would to her own family. Things only became more confusing.

Rín inconspicuously sidled closer to Rorik, a move that earned her a glare from Thorin. "What is going on Rorik?" she hissed in annoyance, keeping her facial expression calm.

"You will see." he replied tersely, before jerking his head towards the head Easterling who was surrounded by children. "Come, Meska wishes you to meet his family. It is custom amongst their people for the Vaidas, or the chiefs, family to greet newcomers."

With am inaudible sigh, Rín did as she was commanded, the disgruntled trio of male dwarves on her heels. Her men-folk were too quiet, she decided, eyeing Thorin warily. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain as he tried to work out a way to escape unnoticed, and probably interrogate Rorik in the process. Poor Nannulf looked dead on his feet and Geir was almost ashen with exhaustion. All in all, they were far too vulnerable. No matter how friendly these Rhûnions seemed, the four of them would need to have a long hard discussion with Rorik and then disappear as soon as possible.

The Easterling Vaidas was talking quickly and quietly with a tall dark-haired woman holding a baby, whom Rín presumed was his wife. She was quite tall (not that all in the race of men were not tall) with black hair plaited in a single braid that hung over her shoulder and fell almost past her waist. That was another thing she had noticed about the Rhûnion women, their clothes were all embroidered in a fascinating array of colours. Brown mixed with all the colours of the world. It was unlike anything she had every seen or imagined.

It was then that the man spotted them and waved the five dwarves towards him, "This is my wife Nadya, and these are our children." Meska said when they came closer, gesturing to each in turn with pride. "Nicolæ is the oldest, Luludja and Shandor after him, then little Talaitha, she has only seen six moons."

When none of the other dwarves offered a response, Rín huffed to herself. It seemed she was to be the official spokesperson. "You are surely blessed to have so many children." she said, finishing lamely. It was in that moment that the baby in the woman's arms decided to gurgle discontentedly and as she was shushed by her mother, Rín's eyes zeroed in on her. She remembered when Nannulf had looked like that, or something like that at least. He had been such a chubby youngling. She had held her arms out and already asked the question before she realised what she was doing. "May I?"

Nadya blinked in surprise and eyed the red-haired dwarrow warily, looking to her husband uneasily. Rín could feel the blush rising on her cheeks and wished, not for the first time that she had thought before she spoke. Meska nodded to his wife imperceptibly and almost before Rín realised it, the woman had cautiously handed her daughter over.

The baby Talaitha blinked blearily up at Rín and yawned suddenly. Uncontrollably, a smile broke over her face and for the first time in a long time, she simply filled with pure delight. Quickly, she looked up and met the womans eyes "She is lovely." Rín said shyly, before turning her eyes to Talaitha once more, "Much sweeter than you were Nannulf. You were simply noisy."

The young dwarrow made a horrified sound and Geir actually snorted. Rín looked over to the old dwarf in surprise, eyebrows raised at the fact that she had managed to elicit an almost-laugh from him. "What?" The he said dryly when he caught her eye, "He was, and I have known plenty of younglings in my time."

Meska and his wife laughed while Nannulf stared at the ground sullenly. Even Rorik and Thorin were smirking at the young dwarf's expense. Talaitha seemed to realise that all the attention from her, and began to squirm. Quickly, Rín soothed her with a well practiced hand before handing the baby back to her mother.

The tension that had been in the air previously had lightened somewhat and Rín wryly thought that perhaps she should speak without thinking more often. "Come," Meska said suddenly to the dwarves, "You must all be hungry, we are all about to eat."

As they walked towards the bonfire, a young girl came towards Geir and began speaking in her tongue to the grumpy old dwarf, trying to get him to come with her. When he eyed the girl warily and cast a sharp question at the Vaidas in regards to what she said, he was lead off unhappily to a healing tent (only after Rín had given him her most threatening glare) to be tended.

The other four dwarves continued to follow the Easterlings and when she fell into step beside Nannulf, Rín caught him in a gentle headlock and ruffled his hair. "Don't worry Nanna, you're still my favourite," she teased, feeling surprisingly free and easy.

With an unintelligible grumble the young dwarf wriggled free and cast a disdainful sniff in her direction before hurrying to walk up beside Rorik. "You raised him." the statement came from behind her and Rín turned to see Thorin studying her.

"Yes." she replied shortly, "Along with most of our faction. We would carry him with us, and feed him food mixed with water to soften it, after Osk died."

Thorin was quiet as he fell into step beside her. "I have wronged you and must apologise for my words." he said quietly, so quietly, Rín almost did not hear him. "It is in my nature to be suspicious, even of those who have proved themselves to be worthy of my trust, on more than one occasion. It is not the first time I have allowed it to cloud my judgement."

Rín's eyebrows raised, almost into her hair line as her eyes flickered across to the dwarf next to her, "Apology accepted." she answered, just as quietly before her eyes turned in the direction of the blonde head walking several meters ahead of them, "We must talk with Rorik. Tonight." she said suddenly.

Thorin looked across at her in surprise, before his eyes turned grave. "Yes." he growled, "There is more than a little explaining to do."

Rín nodded, "Meet me outside the wagons before we sleep, I will bring him with me." she said, and just like that, their truce was drawn up once more. She had been both surprised and pleased with the Once-King's apology, perhaps his stony exterior was cracking somewhat.

The dwarves and Easterlings settled about the campfire, as something the Rhûnions called 'Bogacha', a type of bread, was dished out with meat and herbs. After they all had finished eating, Rín found herself sitting between Meska and Thorin as men and women began getting out their instruments and started to play. Rhûnion music was far different from that of the dwarves, she noticed. The voice of the man singing was smooth and quiet, unlike the deep, guttural singing of her people.

"What do they say?" Rín asked quietly.

"They sing one of the oldest songs of our people. It speaks of a young Vaida of Rhûn who goes to war, and sings home to his lover." Meska said quietly, humming the tune as he translated, "'Will they beat the drums slowly? Will they play the fife lowly? Will they sound the death march as they lower me down? Do not cry for me my lady love, for I am free as a dove'."

Rín stared into the fire as she listened, "It is a sad, but beautiful song." she said finally, Thorin nodding in silent agreement beside her.

Meska laughed dryly, "It is the way of things." he shrugged, "Wherever there will be man, there will always be sadness."

It was Hlífhrím's turn to laugh then, although it was a sound without humor. There was a truth to the Easterlings words that she didn't think he even realised. In the end it was always the greed of man that seemed to cause so much death and destruction. Why the race of men could not be more like her people she did not know.

* * *

**A/N: Hello all my lovely reader-people! Did anyone see that coming? :P**

**As most of you would realise if you have looked on my profile page at any point. I live in Australia. This week, Richard Armitage was in Australia. I went to see his live Q&A Session for Popcorn Taxi. I sat less than 5 meters away. I swooned. He left. I watched the Hobbit (for the third time). That is all.**

**The entire time I was listening to RA talk, I was watching the way he spoke (in a totally, non-creepy way) and for the entirety of the movie, I was watching EXTREMELY carefully, the way Thorin interacts, his personality and his facial expressions. So instead of taking the opportunity to go all fan-girly (as some were doing) I was doing sociological research for this story. I got home and realised how NERDY that was *facepalm***

**With the song of the Rhûnions, I simply nicked some lines from saw amazing song 'The Green Fields of France' and changed the words around a little. **

**Are all you lovely people trying to blow me away on purpose with your reviews? 17 for the last chapter! WARRRRHHHH! The most so far! Massive thanks to ****_L. C. Doyle, Gaia-drea, FioreDeRosa, LadyDunla, Samhoku, trustbroccoili23, creepyLOTRfangirl55, UKReader, DD, Marijke, kat, harrylee94, DeadheadDaisy, whatcatydidnext, AxMxzainyxfan_****, and ****_Mrs EMJC_****, as well of all of you that have joined the following and favouriting.*****hugs* to you all.** :)

**Now, your answers. Some of you were very close and got partially correct answers (and some of you were correct in your reasoning, but the answer, in the end was not), but in conclusion, ****_creepyLOTRfangirl55_**** got it in one go. Well done! *Round of applause***

**Haradrims - Arabian (aka Bedouin if you wish to call them that)**

**Khandrims - Indian**

**Rhûnions - Gypsy (aka Romany/Romani)**

**Myrrlions - Aztec/Inca/Myan (I kind of roll them into one :P )**

**Dairlanhims - Chinese**

* * *

_**Translations: **_**(All of these are Romani words, although I cannot comment on how grammatically correct they are. If they are wrong, don't blame me, blame the internet! :P )**

**_Meska _****__****_(male)_**: Bear

**_Nicolæ (m)_: Victor of the people**

**_Shandor _****_(m)_**: Proud

**_Luludja _****_(female)_**: Flower of Light

**_Nadya _****_(f)_**: Hope

**_Talaitha _****__****_(f)_**: Damsel, maiden

**_Vaida_: Gypsy Chief**

**_Bogacha_: Baked flour bread**


	17. Revelations

Thorin sat still and silent beside the tent, his eyes piercing the darkness and watching for any sign of movement, hostile or otherwise. If anyone had come upon him then, they would have said he looked thoughtful rather than brooding, and he would have found them to be correct. For he was pondering a great many things.

The first, and most important in his mind, was in regards to the Broadbeam, Rorik. (That is, if he did indeed belong to the clan he said he did) It would soon be time to finally receive some of the answers sought, and then he, and his company (as the other three dwarves had become) would be off. Thorin did not entirely trust these Easterlings in any matter, no matter how endearing they seemed. He had not missed the glowering looks a number of men and women had sent him and the other dwarves.

That sorted, his mind turned to the second order of business. It was an odd feeling, having no sense of direction, or cause, and Thorin realised, that if he did not find a purpose soon, he would be far more lost than he ever had before. He had, of course, already agreed to help Rín and her, for want of a better word, family, to the safety that lay West of the mountains. There was still a long way to travel, and he knew the dangers that lay between there, and where they were now, but even then, he was at a loss to what he would do in the time afterwards.

That took him along another path that had been troubling him. Never in his life had he called someone by a pet name. Dís had called her sons Fee and Kee when they had been younglings, but Thorin had always referred to his nephews by their full names. So, why was it that suddenly, he accepted referring to Rín, as Rín. It was...disconcerting.

A sudden clamour from a nearby wagon jerked Thorin from his thoughts. An older Easterling man had dropped several long poles from his wagon and from the corner of his eye, he saw Nannulf rush to help. The man was suspicious of him at first, but at the young dwarf's eager shyness, Thorin saw him slowly relax.

He watched as the pair set up some type of tent critically. Even in the dark, Thorin could see that the boy was good with his hands, and would make a fine craftsman one day. Nannulf did not strike him as the type to make a hardened warrior. Seeing him there, smiling and laughing, even if it was with Easterlings, made Thorin smile for the first time in a long time.

But then he remembered similar occurrences with his own nephews and his smile grew dim. In his mind, he saw them fall as they defended him once again, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to dispel the images that pushed through, but failed utterly.

Firmly, he quashed the deep roiling emotions that threatened to rise to the surface. Taking a deep breath, he opened them once more to see a another pair of dwarves coming towards him, and his face grew grim.

* * *

Rín finally noticed Thorin siting with his back against a wagon wheel and automatically changed direction to head towards him, Rorik trailing not far behind her.

"I see this is to be an interrogation." The blonde-dwarf drawled wryly as they drew closer to the sombre-looking dwarf, "I am sure you will enjoy yourself greatly, Thorin son of Thrain."

Rín and Thorin both, scowled at Rorik with that comment. "This is no interrogation, Rorik," Rín snapped in annoyance, whirling to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. "It is simply an opportunity we are giving you to explain yourself. We do not know your reasoning, and we would like- no, need to know. Now."

"Aye." Thorin said, getting to his feet and mirroring Ríns posture behind her. "As she says. You will tell us and you will tell us _now._"

Rorik eyed the two of them with a look that was both suspicious and appraising. "I will tell Rín, but not you, Thorin son of THrain, for I do not trust you." he replied loftily.

Thorin emmitted a low growl and stepped forwards but Rín cut him off, sending her most menacing glare in his direction. "No Rorik. You will tell us both, and you will tell us now." she shot back cooly, "I trust him, and if you have indeed not forsaken our people, then you will accept my trust in him as word. Now. _Tell us._"

Rorik looked like he was debating whether or not he could weasel out of divulging his thoughts, but finally, with a sigh, he gave in. "As you wish," he said dourly, "Yet you may wish to seat yourselves for this story is long and energy is precious."

Rín cast a glance back at her tall, dark-haired companion, and begrudgingly, Thorin nodded his assent. Smoothly and surely, as Thorin sat back down in his spot beside the wagon wheel, she did the same. Stating her allegiances clearly and loudly, yet without a single word spoken.

Rorik almost looked as if he were about to roll his eyes, but meekly, he too sat down in front of them and cleared his throat. "So where would you like me to begin, my worthy dwarrow?" he asked with a mocking twitch to his lips.

Thorin opened his mouth, no doubt to say something snide, but Rín cut him off, "From the beginning." she said quickly, "I always find, that with any tale, it is best to start from the beginning."

Rorik smirked a her in reply, his lips curving up into an all out mocking smile, "Why, yes. That would be a logical place to begin." he said, "Thank you Rín. Now, let me see, the beginning...

_When Erebor was taken I had seen only fifty-seven summers. My father and uncle, had come to the Mountain not two weeks before for trade, bringing Ása and I with them. My father and uncle both, were killed and it was by pure luck that Ása and I were not, and were put in the same faction. _

_That information however, is irrelevant, as of course, you wish to know how I managed to instigate this little escape do you not? Of course you do. Well, I shall tell you. It took planning. Over fifty years of planning to ensure that every single little aspect, went off without a hitch. Which it did, by the way, if you were wondering and as you can probably see as you are standing in the middle of a field rather than back in the caves or dead, for that matter._

_In those fifty years I made contacts with at least one member of every other faction, but they were only the lowest on my list of those whom I needed to ally with for it all to work. Most importantly, the plan relied on my Easterling contacts- No do not say anything, for if I am to explain you must first let me finish Thorin son of Thrain. Yes? Thank you Rín._

_Now, where was I? Oh yes. You do not honestly believe that of every Easterling that ever roamed Arda, all believed to their very soul that retribution must be brought upon the peoples of Middle-Earth do you? If you do, you are more stupid than you look Thorin son of Thrain. No, neither of you must say anything, or I shan't continue._

_Several tribes, or clans as you would call them, traded with us, and did in fact lose much of their profit when we were taken as slaves. For a slave never works as well as a freeman and wherever there is power in unification, you will find even but a few who are at odds with it. It is the doubts of those few I exploited to gain our freedom. Or perhaps used, is a better word than exploited._

_The Orc and Goblin guards were merely a fly that could be easily swatted aside when needed. They are stupid, and constantly bicker. They rely far too much on orders to follow and can rarely think for themselves, although their evil natures are easy for a strong leader to channel, they are not intelligent soldiers. It was not overly difficult to smuggle in the materials we needed, but to be done properly, it did take time._

_Our list of hidden items in the end included more than one-hundred battered and run-down weapons, over fifty battered water flasks, many of which had to be repaired with the clothes from our own backs, as well as other small items that could possibly come in handy._

_The most important of these however, was something we called dauða. It was used by the forces of evil in the War of the Ring at the end of the Third Age, and my people, the dwarves of the Blue Mountains, stumbled upon it's formula quite by accident. It was the dauða that caused the explosion. _

_A member of the another faction caused the fire to start in your forge, Thorin son of Thrain, and we were taken before the Sachem. The explosion was to go off that exact day we were taken back before the Sachem so that I could easily exact our revenge on the human. Which I did. A single dwarf took a flame to the dauða powder, and in giving his life, saved many more. From there you know the rest of the story, as it is yours to share..._

The other two dwarves were silent for a moment, considering the tale. "An enthralling story." Thorin finally growled suspiciously from beside Rín, his eyes narrowed. "But it has too many holes. It would be impossible for prisoners to do everything you say, and since when have the Easterlings ever shown love for the dwarven people. I only remember war and hate between us."

"I would be careful whom you discredit Thorin son of Thrain." Rorik snapped, his eyes flashing. "For in the ninety one years I have lived beneath Erebor, I have learned the identity of every one of the dwarves that resided in its walls. Never, have I heard your name."

The dark-haired and light-haired dwarrow glared across at each other and Rín almost thought she might need to intervene before they lunged at one another, but their salvation came in the form of Nannulf.

The youngling ambled over happily towards them, a proud look on his face. "The tent is ready!" he remarked happily. When he saw the glares the two males were shooting at one another, a frown pulled across his features. "Thorin? Would you come and see?"

The tall dark-haired dwarf suddenly jerked his eyes away from Rorik and blinked in surprise. The hopeful look on the boy's face seemed to trigger something in Thorin, and with a grunt, he pulled himself to his feet, following where Nannulf lead. Casting a glowering look over his shoulder at Rorik.

Rín watched them go and she smiled as Thorin inspected the boy's handiwork and ruffled his hair in pride. The youngling certainly looked up the dark-haired dwarf, and it made part of her content to see him so happy, so soon after their escape.

Slowly, she got to her feet and made to follow, "Thank you for your explanation Rorik." Rín said quietly to the dwarf that was also getting to his feet, "There is much to digest. I do however have one question. Meska and his people, what do they think or know of all this?"

Rorik blinked, obviously he had not been expecting the question. "They believe me to be Rorik, of the Stonefoot clan." he replied smoothly, only a single faint catch in his voice. "Looking for members of my kin."

Rín looked at him for a moment before nodding in assent. Just as she began to walk away, his hand shot out and grabbed her biceps, keeping her in place. "Just a word of warning Rín." Rorik said quietly in her ear, his grip iron hard around her arm. "Familiarity breeds contempt, and although you say you trust him completely, _I_ _know for a fact_ that this Thorin son of Thrain has not been in Erebor for all that the two of you claim. There is too much I do not know, and I do not like being kept in the dark."

Immediately, Hlífhrím ripped her arm from his grasp, her eyes flashing in fury, "Is that a threat _Rorik_." she hissed.

The blonde-haired dwarf stared at her calmly, "No." he replied, a dangerous edge to his voice. "But it might be, if whatever it is the two of you are hiding will interfere with my plans. I have spent to long waiting for it all to come to an end now."

Rín glared at him "We have _all_ spent too long waiting." she snapped back at him, "Some more than you realise Rorik Broadbeam."

With that, she shrugged the blonde-dwarf away from her and stalked off to where Nannulf was still explaining his work to Thorin. The tall dwarf looked up when Rín approached, a look of concern clearly etched across his features. Rín felt her heart beat a little faster at the worry in his gaze.

"Are you alright?" Thorin asked as she drew closer A dark look stealing over his face when he looked over her shoulder.

Rín smiled faintly, "I am fine." she replied, refusing to turn and look in the direction of his eyes. "Rorik has just told me that Meska and his people believe us to be of the house of Stonefoots. There is something else, but I think I should tell you...and Geir, later, when we are alone." she added quietly, her eyes flicking down to Nannulf who was busy tying something inside the tent.

"Nannulf!" Thorin said suddenly, raising his voice. so that the young dwarf raised his head from his task, "You have shown me your handiwork. I think that now, you should show Rín."

Hlífhrím watched Thorin suspiciously as he began to back away. "Where are you going?" she asked with a frown.

Thorin's unwavering gaze met her own. "To talk with someone."

* * *

Thorin slammed Rorik against the boulder with all the force he had. "So is that why you brought me here," Rorik huffed, trying to catch his breath, even as Thorin had him pinned. "To simply assault me like a petty thug?"

"I am no petty thug," Thorin growled, his stormy eyes flashing, "I am someone to be _feared._"

It gave Thorin immense satisfaction to see the faintest sign of fear flicker across the face of the blonde-dwarrow, even as he sneered in contempt. Bunching Rorik's tunic harder in his fists, he drew him closer until their faces almost touched. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, of the line of- of the Longbeard clan." he growled, never taking his eyes off those of the other dwarf. "And unlike the tale you have spun, in truth my companions _are my kin_, and I will always protect my own. So I tell you once more, _Rorik_, we will leave as soon as we are able, but until then, you will not _ever _threaten the safety of Rín _or_ either of the others again."

With that, Thorin dropped the blonde dwarf (who fell to the ground with a thump) and began backing away, letting the darkness swallow him. "I will not be so gentle next time."

* * *

**A/N: ARRRRHHHHH I UPDATED THIS LAST NIGHT AND IT DIDN'T SEND OUT NOTIFICATIONS! Let's see if this works this time...**

**DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNN! So there you go. As I've said to a few of you, I almost feel sorry for Rorik with the amount of hate mail he's getting...but then again naaaaahhhhhhh maybe not :P**

**Anyway, amazing thanks to ********_ LadyDunla, _****_L. C. Doyle, Gaia-drea _(who posted as 'Guest' hehe),_ ladymoonscar, _********_whatcatydidnext, bayumlikedayum, Suheyla,_** ******_ AxMxzainyxfan_******** (who was too lazy to log in. I'm seeing a pattern here lol)**_********__, ********__harrylee94, RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan, _UKReader, layla cole, Teres, kat, DeadheadDaisy (who also posted as 'Guest' then was lovely enough to leave another review in order to tell me so)_, _**, and of course, ****_Mrs EMJC. *Hugs* _to you all, and thanks to those that followed and favourited :)****  
**

******IMPORTANT NOTE: **

******It was brought to my attention by the lovely Teres, that Tolkien created the word 'dwarrow' as the plural form of dwarf. It is the equal of 'dwarves' but more 'correct' in Tolkiens mind :) (I, in my infinite wisdom, lost that piece of info in the recesses of my brain and just remembered the actual word lol) Sorry peeps! And eventually, I will get around to fixing it, but just take that as a note from now on out XD**

**Now for some SHAMELESS ADVERTISING:**

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**For all your '_15th member of the company_' needs, see bayumlikedayum 'The Misadventures of a Dwarven Woman' all I shall say is...not your typical 'Fanfiction-style' dwarven woman lol.**

** And finally (so far anyway, my list is still expanding) the AMAZING, the WONDERFUL, 'Mirra of Nowhere' by rothSpeigelMan. For your pre-and-during, Hobbit movie cravings. Seriously people, this one was brilliant.**

**IN OTHER NEWS: **

**I have an ingenious 'special features' kind of thing**** in the works** for this story...that is all I shall say for now, but stay tuned for updates.

**So lovely readers that is all from me today! Hope you enjoyed and if you have a chance check out those stories and try and leave a review. The last two really aren't getting the number of reviews they deserve :) xx **

_**Translations (however shaky they may be):**_

**Dauða: Death (Nordic)**


	18. King and Lionheart

Morning five days after being taken to the Easterling people, found Rín watching the same young Rhûnion girl checking that Geirs wound was not festering. It surprised her how much she had learned in such a short amount of time. The Rhûnions were queer people, she had decided, with their odd ways, even odder food and an unusual manner of talking, but they seemed nice enough in the end.

They reminded her of wheat - tall and slim people with skin that was almost a golden brown. Their faces easily showed the tolls of time, as all of the race of men seemed to do, but it also captured moments of laughter. Not all their wrinkles came from frowning.

The tribe, or clan, whatever they called themselves, had at first headed East (Thorin had been teaching her how to read the stars of a night time) and the dwarves had begun to get edgy. For the time being, all they worried over was moving as far away from Erebor as possible and going East was not something that followed the 'do not go near Erebor' motto. The four breathed a collective sigh of relief (some more obviously than others) when slowly, the wagons turned South.

The Rhûnion girl tending to Geir, Mora was her name, had been more than happy to have Rín watch as she worked. For although she did not speak the common tongue, a large amount of gestures, head bobbing and smiles eventually translated her message.

Geir it seemed, had grown rather attached to his little helper (in his own way) who refused to be more than ten feet away from him at any one time. Though he still grumbled at Mora more often than not, Rín saw the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, even as he scowled.

She had also noticed a change in Thorin as well, dare she say it. He was still often quiet and brooding, and his distrust of the Easterlings was clearly evident to any who watched the way he glared at them. But at the same time, whenever he was alone with her and the other dwarrow (excluding Rorik of course) they saw another side of him, another side that was brought about more often or not by Nannulf, or some joke she had made. It was with a great amount of delight that Rín found her Once-King had a fair sense of humor. For although he did not laugh, he smiled.

Nannulf too seemed to be in a permanent state of euphoria, running out and doing as many things as he could in one day. Helping the Easterlings with their daily work seemed to be a particular favourite of his, especially with the children Rín had noticed. Although he was far older than them in mannish terms, as a dwarf he was not much more than a child also.

Not all of the Easterlings could speak the common tongue and this hampered his efforts to make friends, but he found a translator that worked almost as well, in Meskas oldest son, twelve year old Nicholæ, and the pair quickly became inseparable.

Mora carefully tied a knot in Geirs fresh bandage and smoothed it down, smiling up at Rín "Good." she said in her heavily accented voice. That was one of the few words the girl had learned fairly quickly. "Is good."

Rín smiled at the Rhûnion and bobbed her own head in response. "Thank you." she said with a smile. Reaching down, she helped Geir haul himself to his feet and walked beside him as he hobbled from the tent (not that he would ever admit he hobbled, or was in pain for that matter).

Rín had just lifted the tent flap and the trio stepped outside as one head of golden tawny hair, and another of coal black barreled towards her. "Rín!" Nannulf exclaimed with excitement as he and Nicholæ skidded to a halt in front of her, "Rín! The others all want a story, but they didn't want to hear one they had heard before so I said you tell the best stories and so now they want to hear you tell a storyand it doesn't matter if they can't all understand what you're saying because Nicholæ will translate!" he said all in one breath.

Rín looked up to see Thorin behind them ambling along at a more sedate pace and raised her eyebrows "You cannot be be serious Nannulf." she said, "What of Thorin, can he not tell stories?"

"I informed them that my stories are not very good." Thorin said loftily, a malicious smirk ticking at the corner of his mouth, as Rín rolled her eyes in frustration, "Hardly worth hearing really. So I suggested perhaps _you_ were a more suitable alternative."

"Please Rín?" Nannulf asked pleadingly, blinking large, round eyes at her. With a drawn out sigh, Rín nodded, only to find herself immediately grabbed by the arms and hauled off to the place where no doubt hordes of children lay, ready to set upon her. It was with a scowl at a very smug-looking Thorin, that Rín found herself staring into a sea of expectant faces of children and was suddenly struck by the fact that she had no idea what to say.

"Uhhhhh..."

Even more expectant smiles. Inwardly, Rín cringed and scrambled for something to tell a story about. Suddenly the idea hit her. It had always been her favourite tale as a youngling, and so why should these mannish children enjoy it also?

"Now children, I am going to tell you a story, a very special story." she said in a hushed voice, only just loud enough for them all to hear. "Of darkness, great deeds, and friendship, and you will have to listen very, very, very closely."

Her words had the desired effect, and the children as one, all leaned in towards even her as Nicholæ translated her words. "This is a story which is told to all Dwarven children as younglings, and it tells the tale of one of the greatest, most handsome and most regal of all dwarves." Conspirationally, Rín looked across at Thorin who was staring at her with a look that was a mix of emotions; utterly bemused, suspicious and something else she could not place. "His name...was Gimli, son of Gloin."

* * *

"Well I think the children all enjoyed my story greatly," Rín said smugly sometime later, when she and Thorin were sitting alone, facing one another across their fire. Geir was once again in the tent designated for healing, being tended to by Mora, and Nannulf was off playing with Nicholæ somewhere. With a sigh of contentment, she stretched her arms above her head and leaned back against her log with a yawn.

"Gimli, son of Gloin? Handsome and regal? You must be joking." Thorin spluttered, a slow smile stretching across his face, "The dwarf was ugly even as a baby and I knew him from the day he was born!"

Rín sniffed depreciatingly and smirked, "Perhaps he changed during the War of the Ring?" she replied, jumping to defend her story, "A dwarf would have had to have changed to fall in love with one of the fair-folk after all, their women supposedly had no beards!"

Thorin raised his eyebrows and stared at her in surprise, his gaze obviously unconsciously dropping to her own bare cheeks and chin before meeting her eyes once more. Understanding his silent question, Rín waved her hand dismissively.

"My lack of a beard is part of my heritage and I have long since accepted it." she said, in a voice that was hopefully free from bitterness. "As I have also accepted that no man-dwarf would ever find me 'beautiful' for it's absence. I have not dwelled on it as there was never much a point in Erebor - for what business does love have in a prison? But no, if the war had not come to us and Erebor been taken, I do not think I would have much attention fixed upon me in any matter. "

Rín suddenly realised she might have spilled too much of her soul as Thorin stared somberly at her "Perhaps," he began, "A person should be judged and loved, for the goodness of their heart rather than the beauty of their beard."

"That is all well and good Thorin," Rín replied with a small smile, "But who would want a dwarf-woman without a beautiful beard? Even as a child I was looked down upon."

"I-" Thorin began, before halting with a frown as he considered his words, "I think many would, if they were shown the ways they judged others were wrong and helped no one and nothing."

Rín couldn't help it, she snorted at him. "Our people have remained unchanged for years, Gimli son of Gloin was most probably only odd."

"Gimli son of Gloin was not odd, and what you said first was most probably true. He must have changed," Thorin said, glaring at her for her interruption. "I too, to some extent, find myself having learned several things, and changed because of them the first time that I lived," he paused and swallowed, "and now again, for a second time, I am learning even more to let go of what I think and believe know, for things I feel."

Rín blinked at him in surprise at how open he was being with her and looked away, suddenly overcome by a blush for some reason she knew not. "Perhaps that is why you were allowed to return?" she said lowly, curious to see how he reacted and looking up at him shyly from beneath her lashes. "Mahal knew you were needed here and so he brought you back."

"Perhaps, but I can think of several who would have deserved such a fate more than I." Thorin replied, his lips twisting in bitterness, and his face clouded in sudden pain. "But I do not wish to speak of such things."

Rín had learned with time, that there were things you had to think about doing before you did them, and some you did purely on instinct. When she crawled around the fire to sit herself next to Thorin, their shoulders barely brushing, and her legs stretched out in front of her, she was acting on the second.

"We cannot change the fate we are given," she said softly, unable to look him in the eye, choosing to stare straight into the fire instead, "We can only make the most of the blessings we have, and sometimes I have learned, it is better to share your hardships with another. It is only ever more difficult when you are alone. I know what that is like, but I am telling you now, _you_ are not alone, you do not have to act like you are."

Thorin blinked and looked at her unwaveringly, "I am not am I?"

Gathering her courage to look at him, Rín looked the dark-haired dwarf in the eye, "Most definitely not." she replied simply.

Thorin was silent for a moment, his eyes training on the fire once more. Abashed, Rín did the same. Such displays of emotions were foreign, and perhaps it had been the wrong thing to say, she worried, perhaps she had overstepped her mark? Had she-

Suddenly, Rín saw movement out of the corner of her eye, halting her fretting. Slowly, and with what seemed no small amount of hesitation, Thorin reached over and rested his hand on hers, threading his fingers around her palm to capture it to him.

Rín started in surprise at the move, but quickly she relaxed and gave his hand a small squeeze. They sat like that, for how long Rín did not know, but it was long enough for the combination of the heat of the fire and the warmth of the dwarf beside her to lull her to sleep, until a burst of thunder shattered the peace and rain began to fall.

* * *

The Morannon Captain held up his arm to tell his company to half as the rain began to fall in fat dropplets. The Orc sniffed the air, it's lips drawing back over it's fangs in a snarl. "Quickly, " he growled to his platoon "Before we lose the scent, Dwarf-flesh, this way." and with a thundering of heavy footfalls, the Orcs turned South-West and began running into the night once more.

* * *

**A/N: I feel a little bad for bagging Gimli in this one...but what can I say? He's not exactly gorgeous (or a certain Thorin Oakenshield for that matter :P ).**

**What did everyone this of this chappie? **

**It's named after the song by Of Monsters and Men who I have a soft spot for - as soon as I heard it I thought OMG they wrote it for me!**

**As I'm sure you're all aware there was a technical glitch with FF last week that drove me bonkers (as I am sure it drove many other people as well) I shall not rant, but I hope you all had a chance and knew to read last chapter before this one :)**

**Thanks as always to the lovely UKReader, Gaia-drea, LadyDunla, ladymoonscar, harry-lee94, ArkenstoneBeauty, kaia, DeadheadDaisy, Suheyla, whatcatydidnext, MrsEMJC, AxMxzainyxfan, and L. C. Doyle. Also to those that joined the following or favourited. Love all you guys! xx**

**Hopefully, next week, I will have a surprise for all of you! And it will most probably be just in time to celebrate 200 review mark if I'm lucky! :D :D :D :D :D **

**GAH I am so excited! TTFN, until next week!**

**Translations:**

**_Mora_**** - Friend**


	19. In the Dark of the Night

Thorin slowly reached up and pushed a soaking wet piece of hair from his forehead (which had previously been dripping drops on his nose). The four dwarrow, and Rorik, had (unfortunately in Rorik's case) all been relegated to the cramped space of the tent they had been sharing since they joined the Easterlings.

Through some covert studying (and listening inconspicuously to Meska when he talked to Nannulf) Thorin had learned that the tent they were currently residing in was one that the Rhûnioons used when hunting. Their main living quarters seemed to be their wagons, pulled by great, black and white Mannish horses, but Meska had told Nannulf how, when the men went out hunting, they would leave their wagons, and take their tents as more mobile shelter to pursue the great horned deer that roamed the plains.

Apart from the fact that the tent was cramped, and stank of man, it did the job fairly well, protecting those inside from the foul weather outside. Thorin's brows constricted as he heard it again. It was the sound that had first woken him some five minutes ago - horses shifting nervously in the rain, occasionally whinnying in unease.

Now, he was no expert on horses and their ways, especially Mannish ones, but he had liked his own ponies well enough. Ponies always seemed to know things before their masers did. That is why, he somehow got the feeling that something was wrong, very wrong.

Slowly, he shrugged of the blankets that covered him and pulled out the rusted goblin-sword that had been shoved at the back of the tent. Quietly as he was able, Thorin got to his feet. Rín had criticised the way he left his shoes on when he slept, but it seemed that his actions would once again swing in his favour.

As Thorin moved, he took a moment to watch the way her eyelids flickered in sleep and dreams. It was an odd thing, he decided, to have let her into mind and heart so quickly. Feeling such ease at letting her hear his thoughts and feel what his heart was telling him was not normal. It created something vulnerable in him that Thorin did not quite like, but all the same, now knowing he had done it, he could not imagine having held back. Part of him felt more at peace now, in this strange reality with her and the others, than it had in all of the years of his past life.

Just as he moved to step outside, there was a flurry of red hair next to his foot, and a groggily, still-asleep Rín lifted her head to look up at him. When Thorin froze, she blinked at him a few times sleepily before giving a tired yawn. Her gaze sharpened however, when she noticed the sword in his hand "Where are you going with that?" Rín whispered suspiciously, sleep leaving her in an instant.

Thorin's frown deepened as she got to her own feet next to him, red dreadlocks mussed all over the place and over-tunic half on half off, shoes nowhere to be seen. Why she scoffed at his reasonable mistrust of these Easterlings and their situation was beyond him.

"I do not know, but something feels wrong," Thorin replied gravely, "Listen, what do you hear?"

Rín was silent as she cocked her head to the side, doing jst that. "Rain...and horses." she said slowly, her eyes lighting up in understanding, "The horses are restless."

Thorin nodded slowly, "It may just be the rain, but then again, it may not." he said quietly as Rín stared at him wide-eyed "Wake the others, they may need to be ready, for anything."

* * *

Nannulf watched the rain pour down on the outside world, through a small hole in the side of the tent. Occasionally the wet would land on his nose and he'd have to blink the droplets from his eyelashes. Rín was shifting her weight from one foot to the other at the entrance to the tent, Geir was sitting quietly at the back of the tent with his eyes closed, Rorik beside him, running his sword in and out of it's sheath.

Thorin had disappeared into the night some time ago and had still not come back. Nannulf could easily see the tense lines at the corners of Rín's eyes and mouth as she stared out into the darkness. She had been his mother, aunt, and sister all rolled into one. She was his best friend and the one he could turn to whenever he needed help.

Thorin, had quickly become the father he never had (although he was far too shy to tell this to the tall dark-haired dwarf) and part of him hoped one day for the kind of family that Nicholæ had. Perhaps if Rín and Thorin could just-

"Oh I have had enough of this." Rorik finally snapped into the quiet of the tent, getting to his feet and stalking out of the tent, "I think it is time for me to find my good friend Thorin son of Thráin."

Rín swiped out at the blonde-dwarf but missed "Rorik!" she hissed, even as he disappeared out into the night. Nannulf watched in consternation as she growled and threw her hands in the air. Casting a look at him over her shoulder she commanded him to stay put, before heading off after them.

Nannulf scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, looking to Geir for support. The old dwarf simply stared at him with his one good eye. "Don't even think about it laddie." With a growl filled with frustrated righteousness, the young dwarf slumped straight to the floor and propped his head on his knees, looking out of the tent into the rain after them.

It was no more than five minutes later that it started. At first, it was the frightened neighs and screams of horses, then it was the cries of men and women, and then, mixed with them was a roaring growl that made all his hair stand on end. Nannulf was all too familiar with the sounds of Orcs and, suddenly filled with terror for Rín and Thorin, he raced outside, ignoring Geirs calls for him to stop.

* * *

Rín pulled her tunic around her tighter as she stormed off after Rorik muttering to herself about how pig-headed dwarf men were. The rain only grew heavier and every-so-often, she would have to blink to remove the water from her eyelashes, then, she blinked one time too many and the blonde head of hair she was in fact following, disappeared entirely.

Cursing everything that moved, and then some, Rín started heading back to the inner circle of wagons. Her chase of the tall and blonde dwarrow had lead into the outer ring of the Rhûnion camp, where only the large, Mannish horses and least valuable equipment was kept. Suddenly, there was the squelching sound of movement just beside her, and Rín whirled, staggering backwards when she found herself face to face with a large pink muzzle.

Rín breathing a sigh of relief as the horse nickered and stepped forward to nose her upraised hand. She almost laughed when she felt the hotness of it's breath on her fingers, and hesitantly she patted the great beast. When the horse whinnied quietly, she could see several more heads raise from behind it, and begin to move towards her.

Suddenly remembering the reason she was outside being soaked in the first place, Rín bid the horses goodbye, sidestepping them as she began making her way back towards the center of the camp. She had just reached the lean-to that housed all of the harnesses when there was a horse's scream of fear behind her. Rín turned to see the figure of a single stallion rearing, illuminated by lightening, it's front hooves striking out towards a sea of blackness which took the form of creatures taller than a man, and stockier than a dwarf.

Rín's mouth gaped open in fear, just as a hand a hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged backwards amongst the harnesses. Her kicking and thrashing only ceased when she heard the quiet shushing of _his_ voice next to her ear, and the faint scratch of his beard on her cheek.

There was a thunder of hooves and the entire herd of horses, their leads flying from their halters, broke through their camp, the heavy march of feet following close behind. "Silence." was all that Thorin whispered as he removed his hand from her mouth. He did not however, remove the arm from around her waist that held her to him. Almost like one of the Beorn bears she had been given by her parents as a child. She could feel the steady drum of his heart.

It was a platoon of Morannon Orcs that passed their hiding place, just as Rín had feared. As the Orcs moved, Thorin's arm tightened around her as if he thought she meant to run out towards them. Did he not feel the way her heard pounded in her chest? It felt to her like a caged bird fluttered there, sending the blood rushing to her brain.

As the Orcs rounded the corner, the thundering of hooves continued and a cry went up from the Easterlings in the encampment. Something triggered in Rín's mind then. "Geir." the name slipped in a hoarse whisper, and expanded, forming one cohesive thought, "Nannulf!"

Rín wrenched herself out of Thorin's grasp and flew from the tent, heedless of his calls for her to stop. "Nannulf!" the scream tore from her throat as she saw the chaos that reigned. Men and women pulled at frightened horses, faces of children huddled at the windows of wagons peeked out into the darkness and it seemed that everywhere, there were Orcs.

The oddness of the situation registered in her mind as she realised that, while the monsters had their swords drawn, they were not as yet, using them. Then, one of the Orcs turned and caught sight of her, its face twisting into a menacing snarl, it's fangs bared. Slowly, the Morannon raised it's sword, pointing it straight at her. "Dwarf!" it growled so loudly that everything froze, and then, slowly, the rest of it's horde turned towards her, and as one, snarled.

* * *

Thorin's heart pounded a steady beat in his ribcage as he ran after Rín. Why could she not listen to him? She was unarmed, he was armed. She had no experience in fighting and he did. Perhaps if it had been otherwise he would have felt differently, but they were not and as such, her senseless charging off was nothing short of foolish.

The Orcs were slowly advancing on a single dwarf, whose red hair cascaded down her back in tangles. Thorins blood boiled in his brain, there was not creature great or small on this earth, that he hated more than the stinking heap of flesh that was Orcs. The beast closest to him only just noticed him in time as he attacked, pulling it's own sword up just in time to stop itself from being beheaded.

With a snarl of fury, the other Orc's caught sight of Thorin attacking one of their own and advanced, Rín seemingly forgotten - or perhaps not, he realised as several turned back to face her. Bringing his sword up, he prepared for the attack that was sure to come.

"Stop!" It was the single booming cry of a man's voice - Meska; who stood on the top of a wagon, outlined against the lightening-filled sky that made everyone halt. Both Orc and dwarf alike. Another smaller figure clambered up beside him, (whom Thorin recognised as Rorik), just as the Easterling began speaking, "I am Meska Chieftan of the Rhûnion people, and I order all of you who stand in my clan-space to drop your weapons now." he said so loudly, it made Thorin's ears drum. Two Orcs to his left lowered their weapons, but did not drop them. The others closest to him kept theirs pointed on him, and he kept his pointed on them.

"I said _now_!" The sound that came from the man's mouth was almost a roar (Thorin could feel the power that radiated from it) and in unison all those with swords dropped them to the ground.

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN! What shall happen next?**

**Ladies and Gentlemen (if any of you are actually gentlemen!) I am proud to announce that the special surprise I've been busting to tell you all about for nearly two weeks is here! A website for all the information I have wanted to add to this story, but haven't been able to! Yes it's an Appendices! Please check it out! Visit: iveseenhell dot wordpress dot com /home/**

**The link will also be on my profile :)**

**The horses described here are based on the Gypsy Vanner horse, which is noted for it's intelligence, athleticism, beauty and docility. **

**Special thanks to_ LadyDunla, Gaia-drea, whatcatydidnext, L.C. Doyle, Mrs EMJC, UKReader, ArkenstoneBeauty, AxMxzainyxfan, harrylee94, rothSpiegelMan, Suheyla, DeadheadDaisy_ and my guest reviewer _kat_. As well of those that followed and or favourited. Much love you guys! :) xx**

**Hope you all enjoyed it! :)**


	20. Allies

The winds swept and whipped around the small rock cottage that stood on a crest, overlooking the Sea of Helcar. They teased that stray strands of grey hair that hung about to face of an old man, sitting out on a stone seat outside the house's front door and whispered whispered to his ears.

Brown eyes in a weathered face flickered open and the man cocked his head to the side as he listened. Tiny drops of sleeting rain began to fall, and the water trickled down the man's craggy face as he turned to face the rain.

The wind whispered tales of Dwarves, Orcs and men; of grasses and trees and deadlands. It told of a life that was not meant to be, yet whose heart pounded with the steady beat of living stone. Brown eyes flashed open in realisation and the man got to his feet. The rain steadily grew heavier as he tried to listen once more for the stories the wind told, but the sound of the falling water drowned out the message.

With a huff of warm breath against the cold air, the man wrapped his coat about him tighter and frowned, before shoving the door of his cottage open and stepping inside, out of the rain.

* * *

Rín stared at the Easterling Vaidas in shock, her eyes wide. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Nannulf's face peeking from behind a wagon, clear of the Orcs line of sight. There was some comfort in that at least.

Thorin, to her right, was glaring murderously at Meska, sure of his upcoming betrayal, and Rín felt a tug at her own heart, that those she had begun to call friends would show reject them so easily. For a moment, she considered shifting closer to the safety that was the tall, dark-haired dwarf, but decided against it. It would be better by far if she did not attract any attention to herself at all.

"None of you will lift a weapon of any make towards another whilst in my clan-space." Meska growled. "You will obey my laws as Vaidas, according what is right as my allies."

It was then, an Orc, the largest of their horde, stepped forward with a snarl, "You protect them?" it grunted, black eyes flashing as it looked first at Meska, then at the blonde dwarf that stood behind him, "We are your allies under the treaties made, traitor, not these dwarf scum."

The sound of many wooden arrows sliding over string rose over the rain, and Rín noticed for the first time, the Easterlings that appeared from the darkness surrounding them, their bows drawn.

Meska's face twisted into an animalistic snarl as he stared down the Morannon Orc, the lightning that flashed through the sky behind him only added to the darkness that shadowed his face. "I will let this one slight pass me by Orc," he growled, stepping forward on the roof of the wagon, his voice still booming about them, "but do not expect such kindness next time you insult me."

The Orc growled deep in it's throat, it's eyes narrowing, before nodding in recognition. Meska seemed to cast his gaze about those in front of him once, before lithely jumping to the ground. Rorik however, stayed where he was on the roof of the wagon and surveyed the scene beneath him.

"I now ask you, why are you and your company here?" the man said, unconcernedly looking the Morannon Orc in the eyes, even though it stood a little over a head above him.

The beast grunted, it's lips pulling back over it's teeth before it spoke. "We are commanded by the new Sachem, to hunt down the dwarves that have escaped the halls of Erebor." it spat out, "Dwarves that you have here."

"It is there that you are wrong, Captain." Meska said sharply, his eyes hard and his head cocked to the side as he considered the Orc, "These dwarves are not those that have fled from Erebor. In truth, this is the first that I have heard of such an occurrence, although I did see the smoke that rose from the Lonely Mountain almost a week past."

The Easterlings gaze flickered flickered in Rín's direction and he looked her directly in the eye as she spoke. She only just resisted the pull to look away from his gaze. "The dwarves that travel with us are of the Stonefoot clan. They also, are our allies as you well know. Indeed the female you seemed so apt to kill is the daughter of an Ironfist." Meska said, finally drawing his eyes back to the Morannon Captain. "Surely you would not want to start a war with you allies? Our Easterling tribes would not wish to choose a side, but if we had no choice..."

The Orc snarled in fury at the Vaidas' implication. With a growl, it reached down and picked up it's blade, re-sheathing it in it's belt. "I see there was a mistake, Easterling." it snapped, motioning with it's head, for the rest of it's company to do the same, as it backed away from the wagons. "I will not make such a mistake again."

* * *

Nannulf fair breathed a sigh of relief as the Orcs tramped away from the encampment, muttering in their Black Speech. He shrank back further into the wagon as one Snaga in particular, passed closer to him than the rest. It was as if the creature sensed him standing there in the darkness, because it turned its misty eyes towards him and leered. Something like recognition flashing across it's face, as it bared its teeth at him, before turning away once more and walking on.

Nannulf let out the breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and slumped back against the wagon, letting his breath mist in the cold air around him.

* * *

"What do you mean that I was foolish?!" Rín snapped, hands on her hips and eyes blazing as she stared Thorin down.

The dark-haired dwarf stared somberly down at her, the faintest flash of annoyance crossing his eyes. "You obviously have no weaponary experience or for that matter, any ability in any capacity in which you would be able to protect yourself. I doubt you would have gotten the opportunity in the mines."

"So?" Rín asked indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. Thorin had taken the moment, as soon as the Orcs had disappeared and Meska began talking quietly to his archers, to pull her under the partial shelter of a wagon and talk to her.

Thorin's eyes flashed, "So you were foolish to run out, not knowing what you were doing." he answered so calmly, yet so without blame, that it made Rín feel like she were only a youngling again, standing and fidgeting beneath the unwavering gaze of someone so much wiser than she; and she didn't like it.

Fiercely, (and unsuccessfully), she tried to think of something, some counter-argument that she could reply with. With a hiss of expelled air, Rín said the first thing that came to her mind, "You are right, I may not know what I am doing, but I will always at least _try_ to do something." she said, meeting his eyes, "And I think perhaps, you should not think you need to let me, or stop me, from doing as I will. I do not answer to you."

A look that might have been hurt flashed across Thorins face and immediately something like guilt seeped into her bones. Awkwardly, she reached out and patted his arm, "Do not take that the wrong way." Rín said softly, stepping closer, "I simply mean, you are not responsible for my fate Thorin. If anything, it is I who am responsible for yours."

With that, and without meeting his eye, Rín turned and walked off, squashing the riot of emotions that came with thoughts of the tall dark-haired dwarf and turning her thoughts to safer thoughts of Nannulf, and how she was going to give him a good dressing down when she found him.

Rín had got not twenty paces away, and had only just spotted Nannulf's soaked tawny hair poking out from beneath the wagon, when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, her mind racing. The scene between Meska and the Orcs played in her mind over and over again and it was then, that she knew what had been troubling her.

_"The dwarves that travel with us are of the Stonefoot clan. They also, are our allies as you well know. Indeed the female you seemed so apt to kill is the daughter of an Ironfist." Meska said_...

She had never told the Easterling of her heritage, so, how did he know?

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone, sorry this chapter's a bit late (and a bit of a shorty!). Been über-busy, and sick at the same time (not a good mix).**

**Did anyone forget that Easterlings and Dark creatures, though they were few, allied and 'rose up against the West'? It was in the Prologue. Haha, it seems a few of you did ;) **

**Anyway, I don't know if I've said it before, but I'm going to link this story to my Lord of the Rings story (which is currently on hiatus although that will eventually change when I have more time :P ) but hopefully, when all things are said and done, the two will link up :)**

**Thanks to UKReader, Gaia-drea, LadyDunla, Aluriel, harrylee94, ArkenstoneBeauty, DeadheadDaisy, MrsEMJC, L. , AxMxzainyxfan, Suheyla, RoseZemlya'sFavouritefan, and kat. Also, to all**** of those who favourited and followed. They were all lovely notifications for a sick person to wake up to. :)**

**Until next time! :)**


	21. Soap

The next morning found the Easterling camp on edge, the people were more stiff and reserved with her than usual, Rín noticed. On top of that, Nannulf was sulking back in their tent - she having yelled at him for disobeying her order. Rorik was sitting on a rock just outside the camp, smoking a pipe he had somehow managed to conjure up from somewhere, and Thorin, whilst polite, was once more bordering on cold. All in all, a headache. It was ironic that such drama had not occurred within the depths of Erebor, she thought bemusedly. Their motley little group only became more fragmented as time passed.

Rín found herself with more idle time than she would have liked. Back at Erebor, life had been filled with a million things to do during the day and the only thing left to do when back in the pits was to collapse in exhaustion and sleep. So it was, that she found herself wandering amongst the wagons of the camp attempting to plan the direction of their travels, and instead being drawn aside by the curiosities she found looking at the homes of these people. Each wagon was covered in different colours and carvings in which stories wound their way over the wood. The paint was flecked and aged, but still as beautiful as the day it had been put there.

Rín ran her hands over the wood absentmindedly as she passed, letting her fingers brush over wood and trace the patterns and carvings. Far easily than it should have, her mind slipped into daydreams of what life might be like once they reached the lands to the West. Things would be better there. They would be able to life without fear of death, and finally, they would have some place to call home.

They could settle somewhere, in the mountains perhaps, where there was plenty or room for mining if they so wished, and there maybe, they could leave some sign of themselves to pass on to those that followed. Nannulf would be able to learn the things that every youngling should have the chance to learn about their culture, Geir would be able to live the rest of his life doing whatever it was he most wanted to do, and Thorin-

That was where she stopped. Her feet and thoughts both coming to a halt. Thorin would leave and do whatever it was that he wanted to do with this second life that he had been given. Funnily enough, the thought left her feeling more hollow than she thought she would have been. But perhaps she was worrying for no reason, he might in fact wish to stay with them in any case.

Biting her lip and deep in thought, Rín began walking once more, the beauty of the wagons forgotten as she rounded a corner and ran face first into an Easterling. Just as quickly, she rebounded away from the man and quickly mumbled an apology. The Rhûnion glared at her and said something sharply in his own language before continuing on his way and shouldering her as he passed.

Ríns eyes narrowed and she cast several choice curse words after the mans retreating figure, absentmindedly rubbing her shoulder. Stomping onwards, she marched into her tent positively fuming. Luckily enough for Nannulf, the youngling had disappeared from the tent since that morning (escaping what would have no doubt been her wrath) and she was all alone.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rín let her eyes wander about the tent, and the sparse belongings that furnished it. A bed-roll here (Nannulfs), a very battered pipe over there (Roriks she assumed), and an ill-kept goblin sword in the corner (Nannulfs again, the boy really was incorrigible). For the first time, Rín noticed how dirty everything was compared to the things the Rhûnions owned.

She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like, to be completely clean. In Erebor, the dwarves were never given an opportunity to wash, and the water they were given in the pits was precious - only to be used for drinking. The only time anyone had truly ever washed, was when they were mining near one of the underground streams, and even then, they dared not go any further than rinse their face and neck.

Thoughtfully, Rín ran her stained, and muck-covered tunic through her fingers, considering the idea that was running through her mind. Deciding, she spun on her heel and marched straight back out of the tent in search of Meskas wife Nadya. Several days before, the woman had been boiling something in a large pot, and Rín had watched in fascination and no small amount of horror as the whitish-yellow substance slowly solidified (she severely hoped that it was not something they were meant to eat).

The woman, when questioned as to what it was that she was making, through a very broken attempt at Westron, had finally gotten the message across that it was in fact, soap. Rín had blinked in surprise. Soap was a luxury she had not even dreamed of for so many years, it felt only like the faintest of sweet memories.

The Rhûnion woman was only too pleased to hand over some of her older stores at her request (Rín somehow got the distinct feeling Nadya was only too pleased to have them cleaned up a little, no doubt, to the humans, their dirtiness was slightly nauseating). And so it was that her plan was concocted. Nadya, as well as soap, had given her several overly large tunics and cloaks for the dwarves. She had also indicated that, once they were washed, the dwarrow were to change into those, and she would come and help Rín wash the dirty clothes they were wearing. The red-haired dwarf was almost overwhelmed by the woman's kindness.

Rín found Nannulf playing a game with some of the Rhûnion boys, kicking a small patchwork ball between one another. Geir and Rorik were watching; well, Rorik passed Geir a pipe, who was watching and then proceeded to pull out another and fill it for himself. He didn't look particularly interested in the rest of what was going on around him.

Flicking her hair back over her shoulder, she strode over to the pair and informed them that they would all be going down to bathe. Rín ignored Roriks glare and stood out Geirs silence, firm in her reasoning that it was absolutely necessary, how long it was since any of them had washed properly was not something one wished to think about.

Signalling to Nannulf to follow, the four of them (Geir and Rorik begrudgingly) began the long tramp down to one of the shallower streams leading off from the Old Forest River Nadya had told her of. Rín did not however, see Thorin as they went, but decided it did not matter much anyhow if he did not was - he had not been in the filth of Erebor for anywhere near as long as they had and he was not as dirty.

"Oh hurry yourselves now," Rín grumbled, happily expectant of the change to wash, and annoyed at the unenthused nature of her companions. "What is it with you all today?"

Rorik glared at her and rolled his eyes, "Did you ever perhaps think that the river might be cold, running down from the ice in the mountains?" he said as they neared the location Nadya had told her of.

Rín sniffed depreciatingly, "Do not be such a child Rorik, a bit of water wold do you good, and you will become used to the cold." she said, placing the bundle she had been carrying down on the pebbles that lined the river banks. "Now, Nadya has given me soap and fresh things to change into for all of us, so that we can wash our clothes afterwards. Why she thinks I should be the only one to wash all of the clothes is beyond me."

"Perhaps because that is womans work." Rorik replied snarkily, grinning as he undid the ties of his tunic and pulled it over his head.

Rín leered at him in response. "You wear it you wash it."

Nannulf, ignoring the conversation, had already removed his hole-ridden boots and socks, and dipped his toes into the waters. With a yelp of surprise, he leapt straight back out "It's freezing!" he wailed plaintively.

Rín rolled her eyes and went down to test the water temperature herself. "It's not that cold Nannulf-" she began, when suddenly, she was cut off with a shriek when she was pushed headfirst into the stream, still clothed. Pushing up to the surface gasping for breath, Rín tried to pull as much of herself as she could above the cold water and blinked droplets from her eyes, staring open-mouthed at a cackling Rorik and Nannulf.

Even Geir, now sitting on the the side of the bank, cracked a smile. Glaring at a the laughing trio, Rín crossed her arms over her chest, shivering angrily as she sloshed back towards the waters edge. "It is not funny!" she chattered, shaking like a leaf, but to no avail, the male dwarrow simply continued to laugh.

"Oh but it is," Rorik said, "You were the one who said it was not cold." Narrowing her eyes at them, she changed her mind, and chose not to leave the water yet, instead swiping her hand roughly across the top of the water and sending a wave crashing over their heads, and leaving them almost as wet as her, ceasing their snickering.

"Now, get in here and wash yourselves, you're all filthy." she growled and pulled her own tunic over her head, clenching her jaw and forcing herself back beneath the water.

In the end, Geir said he was not going in until at least one of them were out, Rín noticed the sword he kept. placed over his raised knees and she understood his reasoning. It would do none of them any good if they were to be caught unawares. The Orcs still lingered at the corners of their minds.

Nakedness was not something that mattered much to Rín and her fellows, it had never been something any of them or their faction had ever had cause to dwell on such things beneath Erebor - there was no time for niceties.

But now, looking at herself as she ran the soap up over her arms and shoulders, Rín took a moment to study herself. Her arms were far too skinny, and her nails were caked with dirt. If the stream had not been one that flowed, then she was sure there would have been a black cloud floating around her like a thunderstorm.

Slowly, and almost to her surprise, her arms turned from a tanned-mud-colour, to a far lighter shade that clearly showed the red-gold hairs of her arms. It felt like she was growing a new skin.

Finally deciding that she was clean, or clean enough in any matter (one could be too clean) Rín finally made her way back to the shore, passing an unhappy Nannulf who had just lost his third bar of soap. With a sigh, she passed him hers and met with a sheepish grin, she continued up, trading places easily with Geir.

Rín had quickly pulled the tunic over her head and was just tying the laces when there was the crunch of pebbles behind her and she whirled to find Thorin standing there, a stony look on his face. He just looked at her for a moment, studying her almost curiously.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

Rín blinked at him in conclusion. "We needed to wash." she replied bluntly. "We have not done so properly in many years."

Thorin seemed to consider her answer, his eyes flickering to the three in the water, Nannulf attempting to catch the soap that kept slipping from between his fingers, before returning to her. "I see." he said gravely.

Somehow, and for some reason, Rín felt like she had done something wrong, "I looked for you and could not find you otherwise you could have joined us...although you do not much look like you are dirty enough to warrant a bath." she said in a rush, only cursing her traitor mouth after the words had been said.

Was that a flicker of laughter she saw in his eyes at the comment? Whatever it was, Thorins gaze was once again stern. "That does not matter," he said shortly, "You are needed back at camp, all of you." he added, when she made to follow him.

"You could simply walk the few meters down and tell them yourself you know." Rín muttered under her breath as she spun on her heel and headed back towards the waters edge.

"Oh and before you return to the encampment Hlífhrím," Thorin called out from behind her, "I would suggest locating a pair of pants."

* * *

**A/N: I'm interested to see how everyone feels about this chapter. A LOT of introspection and very little dialogue. Let me know eh?**

**Thanks to LadyDunla, harrylee94, UKReader, bayumlikedayum, L. C. Doyle, rothSpiegelMan, Suheyla, PS, MrsEMJC, AxMxzainyxfan, DeadheadDaisy, Gaia-drea and all those that followed and favourited. Love to you all.**

**Also, to my ever-faithful guest reviewers, I just want to let you know, that even though I cannot reply to you personally, each of your reviews are wonderful and make me smile. Thank you :)**


	22. Vaidas

_Her father heaved his heavy satchel over his shoulder and made for the door. Rín immediately raced over to him and wrapped her arms about his legs. "Papa, why are you going again?!" she wailed, her already long red her flying behind her as his steps carried her closer to the door. _

_With a sigh, he bent down and wrapped his arms around her small, stubborn form, prying him away from his leg. "Because I must." he said firmly but gently, stepping away once more. _

_Rín noticed the look her mother gave him as she too stepped into the little foyer. However, although she heard the words, she could never understand their full meaning._

_"How much longer must this go on?" her mother said, making Rín look up in worry at the touch of anger in the female dwarfs voice._

_Her father sighed, "Not much longer Thyra," he replied, pulling her against him and taking her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles before holding her palm to his cheek. "This is the end of it, this last time, and then all will be well."_

_Rín watched her parents closely, noting the way her mothers eyes misted over. Ríns eyebrows creased into a frown. Her mother never cried. Her mother was too beautiful to cry, with her lovely long red hair and delicate mist of a beard._

_Thyra looked her husband in the eye, and Rín got the distinct feeling she was looking for something, "Just come home to us Nannulf." she whispered (so faintly, Rín almost missed her mothers words) and then leaned in and kissed him like it was the last time she would see him._

_That was the final straw for Rín, "Eeeeeeewwwwww MAMA!" she screeched, scrunching up her face at the disgusting sight of her parents kissing before fleeing back into the kitchen so she did not have to witness such things._

* * *

Wandering about the camp of the Easterlings was not something that Thorin found particularly enjoyable. It was large, with over twenty home-wagons, five store wagons and other bits and bobs, like clothes lines - hung between two of the home-wagons; that gave the feel of the camp being larger than it really was (although 'large' was still small to his thinking). However, he had never liked the feel of being constricted to a certain location or set of rules, Thorin rather preferred making them to suit him and so the need to stay with the Rhûnions did not sit well with him. But perhaps he was biased.

It was ironic then, that the first person whom he stumbled upon (and recognised) was Meska, the Vaidas, just about to make his way up the wooden steps into what Thorin presumed was his own wagon.

"Ahhhh Thorin, please join me," Meska said with a smile, gesturing him up into the wagon, "Come and talk with me."

So far, the man had only shown himself to be good and just, but that still did not mean Thorin trusted him, and that was why, when he nodded politely as he climbed the stairs, keeping his face cool, inwardly, he cursed the fact his sword was left in their tent.

Just as Thorin stepped inside, Meska quickly opened both wooden windows on either side of the wagon, as well as a hatch in the room. When the dwarf looked at him quizzically, the man just smiled.

"I know you do not trust me," Meska said with a glint in his eye, jerking his head in the direction of the open windows, "That is why I have opened the windows - you would have more than one means of escape should you wish it. But they are also open as I would like to offer to share a pipe with you, as a sign of the friendship I extend."

With that, the man reached for a nearby shelf, pulling two small wooden pipes down before digging some tobacco leaves out from somewhere and offering them all to the dark-haired dwarf. A little unsure, and still wary, Thorin accepted one of the pipes with a nod and mumble of thanks, taking a few of the leaves as he went, stuffing his pipe full.

As Meska and he lit their pipes and took a draw, Thorin looked about the little wagon. There was something about it which seemed to feel so similar to him. Squinting in the light, he focused his gaze on the carvings that covered every space of wood, and again the familiarity hit him in a wave. Those curving lines, the like flowing waters or stalks of grass in the wind, and the many creatures carved into them.

_Suddenly, the light seemed to grow dimmer in Thorins eyes and he was still there, inside the wagon, and yet, not there. It was not Meska that sat there, but another, "I do no not need your service, thank you, but I expect you need mine." Dark blue eyes stared back at him, surrounded by shadow, "Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thór..."_

Thorin shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and passing his hand over them. There was a dull throbbing ache in his head that matched the beat of his heart. When finally the pain subsided, and he looked up, Meska was studying him intently.

"It is a heavy burden you bear," the Rhûnion said quietly, "and one which I would wish on anyone."

Thorin narrowed his eyes and was just about to ask the Easterling exactly what he meant, when suddenly, there was a cry from outside. In an instant, the man he had been sitting with for who knew how long, suddenly disappeared and became the Vaidas he was.

As Meska hurried from the wagon, Thorin followed, hot on his heels, wondering where the rest of his company had disappeared to. As soon as Meskas feet hit the ground, another Easterling ran up to him and said something in their crude language. Thorins hands immediately went to the blade at his side, and he cursed himself again for leaving it back in the tent they had been sleeping in; when his hands met empty air.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Meska turned and smiled calmly. "There is a messenger headed in our direction." he explained, "It is not often that we receive word from the other clans, or from other groups of our own clan. Today is indeed a special day."

"Indeed." Thorin said dryly, not entirely convinced.

Meska studied him for a moment before speaking again, "But no, perhaps you are right. It would be safer for your people if they were to be with us." he replied, much to Thorins surprise. "Nadya told me they have all gone down to wash. They will be down at one of the streams leading to the Old Forest River, Nicholæ will show you the way if you wish it. Take your sword though and return as quickly as you are all able. It is better to be safe than sorry."

Thorin considered the mans words and nodded politely before spinning on his heel and doing just that. The words had carried far to much of an air that surrounded that of an order for his liking, but they were wise all the same, and so begrudgingly, Thorin found himself following the command of a human for the first time in his life. He did not like it.

The human boy, Meskas son, whom he had come to have a fair amount of contact with, through Nannulf, bounced about the place like some sort of rabbit, laughing and chattering about the arriving messenger. In fact, half the time, Thorin could not even understand what it was the boy was saying. He could never remember being so bouncy as a child. Dwarf children did not bounce. That was a rule.

In a few moment, they had topped the last rise and the stream spanned out below. Thorin could see four figures in the water and another stepping out - their mane of red hair identifying Rín. Rín who was about to pull a tunic over her head-

Oh.

_Well at least she had been facing away from him_ he thought weakly, grumbling inwardly to himself about the weather, humans, insane dwarves washing in ice-cold water, and everything and anything to make him feel more himself. He had come to find them over a serious matter. Blinking owlishly, Thorin fought to morph his face into a more suitable expression before she turned around. And it seemed to work, just in time.

Ríns now clean face practically sparkled with cleanliness. It was disconcerting. Dwarrow were not supposed to be so eye-catching when clean and shiny. They were supposed to be most attractive after a hard days work filled with toil and effort when their true measure could be made. It was more than disconcerting, it was distracting.

"What are you doing?" Thorin asked quietly, deciding to be the first to speak.

Rín blinked at him, looking like some sort of startled deer. "We needed to wash." she said meekly, "We have not done so properly in many years."

Thorins eyes flickered to Nannulf, in the water, who was attempting to catch the soap that kept slipping from between his fingers, and he struggled to keep back the snort of laughter that threatened to escape him. "I see." he said gravely.

Rín started to fidget then, "I looked for you and could not find you otherwise you could have joined us...although you do not much look like you are dirty enough to warrant a bath." she said in a rush, and again Thorin bit his tongue and tried to keep his face sombre.

He cleared his throat and adopted his most granite face, "That does not matter," Thorin said shortly, "You are needed back at camp immediately, all of you." he added, when she made to follow him.

"You could simply walk the few meters down and tell them yourself you know." Rín grumbled and scowled. However, Thorin still thought she looked like she was going to march up there along behind him, so, to save her from what would be no doubt a heavy amount of mortification (as well as the embarrassment of the others), he decided to tell her in the bluntest manner possible, what it was exactly that she was missing.

* * *

"Put some pants on? Put some _pants _on?!" Rín seethed, glaring at the back of the tall dwarfs head, who walked ahead of her. "Do I normally walk around without pants on? Perhaps that is the way you like to do things but it is not the way I do them Thorin Oakenshield!"

If looks could kill, the mighty Thorin, son of Thráin, would be no more than a charred and smoking hole in the ground. With a toss of her wet hair (which was currently hanging in long, dripping tendrils), Rín stormed up and past the Once-King, fervently hoping he had heard her.

As they neared the encampment however, they slowed. It was far too quiet. There were barely any sounds of people, animals or other activities. Nicholæ however, who had stayed with them on the journey back, seemed completely oblivious, humming to himself as he walked on beside Nannulf.

Out of the corner of her peripheral vision, Rín could see the way Thorins shoulders had tensed, and his hand rested on his sword. As the wagons opened into the center of the Easterling camp, the dwarves found themselves face to face with a large gathering of people. Rhûnions, all with their heads bowed and eyes closed, Meska at their center.

Slowly, the man opened his eyes and stared straight into hers. There was something there that worried her. "The Sachem of Erebor is dead." Meska said suddenly, as the rest of his people raised their heads and opened their eyes, all turning to stare at the five dwarrow. "There will be an enclave where the next Sachem will be chosen. You must all go, it will not be safe for you soon, you must make your move now. You may travel with us as far as the forest at the edge of the Sea of Rhûn, but from there you must make your own way West. The wall will not be as guarded at this time, with the Mæta, most will flock there for the choosing. You will be able to pass through."

"What do you mean?" Rín said, suddenly confused and uncertain, "We are Stonefoots, why would we wish to travel West?"

Meska raised his eyebrows and a smirk twitched at the corner of his lips and yet, there was no smile in his eyes, only worry. "Rorik? Shall you tell them."

Slowly, Thorin, Rín and Geir and Nannulf all turned as one to face the pale-haired dwarf, angry, accusing, questioning and confused respectively. Rorik stared back and simply shrugged, "What is there to say?"

* * *

**A/N: I don't know, I found this chapter interesting to write. Thoughts? :)**

**Thanks as always to LadyDunla, UKReader, ArkenstoneBeauty, bayumlikedayum, harrylee94, Samolfran, DeadheadDaisy, L. C. Doyle, EscapingTheirReality, AxMxzainyxfan, Suheyla, MrsEMJC, and Gaia-drea. (I almost know all your names off by heart now - haha!) As well as those who joined the following and/or favourited. Much appreciated!**

**Updates have been added to the Appendices! Until next time! :)**


	23. It Begins

Rín woke with a start at the clatter and pang of pots knocking against one another. Jerking herself awake, she blinked blearily at the Easterling man who was quickly and efficiently placing the utensils used by the emissary party away in their carry-bags.

Sighing as she shook herself and staggered to her feet, Rín let her hair fall in front of her face, acting as a screen so that perhaps for a second more, she could pretend that this all wasn't happening. It was six days after the messenger had come to the Rhûnions and revealed, much to the shock of all (well, almost all) that the Sachem of Erebor had passed.

Things had progressed far too quickly after that, and Rín was still struggling to digest it all. It seemed that Meska had known all along that she and her company were not exactly who they said they were. Rorik had led them to believe otherwise and in the end, it was Meska who had told them he and Rorik had known each other since he was only a boy - he was one of the Easterlings who had been aiding the dwarves of Erebor, as had his father, and his father before him.

Upon receiving the news, the four dwarrow had remained silent and looked at one another in bewilderment, not entirely sure what to say. Thorin caught Ríns eye, and the uncertain and almost worried look she gave him seemed to trigger something.

"We can only thank you for your kindness then Vaidas." Thorin said evenly, turning towards the Rhûnion once more. "We are in your debt."

Meska inclined his head "There is no debt for that which is given in friendship," he replied, "Especially for those of the line of Durin and his kin."

Rín started then, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the confused looks on the others faces. "I know not what you mean." the tall dark-haired dwarf said stiffly, his gaze unwavering from the mans.

"The likeness is unmistakable, dwarves of Durins line always have strikingly similar features." Meska said, and Rín could even see the way Geir and Nannulf looked at Thorin with expressions of contemplation. Rorik too, was glaring as he studied the dark-haired dwarf.

"As Thorin said, Meska," Rín interjected suddenly, hoping to divert attention away from the current topic, "We are grateful for all that you have done for us and we will not forget your kindness. Your good advice is invaluable to us and with your leave, we will prepare ourselves now for the task ahead."

Meska stared at her for a moment and something unreadable passed across the mans face before he nodded. "Go now and rest well tonight, for we will leave at dawn."

There it was, that six days later the company of four, Rorik, and a group of Rhûnions, twelve in number, found themselves nearing the River Carnen. Their party was small - an emissary that was large enough to protect itself fairly efficiently, but small enough so that it was not hampered by heavy wagons, carrying the elderly and children. The day after leaving the rest of of the Easterling tribe, their party had crossed the River Ceduin and made camp on its Easternmost banks.

It was then that tensions between the dwarrow first reached a head. Geir and Rorik had been eyeing Thorin with wary gazes throughout the day, although, to different degrees. Nannulf was simply confused. He had been fed stories of those of the line of Durin, the line of Kings, since he had been born, and to see the dwarf he had come to idolize, prove to be supposedly even more of idolatry figure; it was obviously puzzling to him as to why Thorin was treated with such suspicion.

Rín simply worried. When she was little, she had sworn to herself she would never worry as much as her mother did, and here, little over ninety years later, she was even worse. In such a short amount of time, she had come to be exactly the same.

Of course there was reason to worry. What would happen if the others found out? They would want to know how, and why, and where would that leave everyone? In more trouble than they had started with. Rín herself had already borne the brunt of Thorins anger when she had innocently inquired about the gem that was tucked safely into his inner-breast pocket (which she had sewn herself, when Nadya had supplied them with new inner-tunics). She could only imagine the reaction of the others if they knew what Thorin carried. Too much could go wrong.

Her father had told her stories of a cousin he once had, who went mad with gold-lust all of a sudden and turned on his own family and friends when he thought his trove was threatened by them. He had been as gentle as a dwarf could be beforehand she was told, but it only took one instance for him to change. It was not something Rín wished to see happen amongst those she cared for.

Upon camping that first night, they had split into smaller campfires of five or six. The dwarves all grouped together, despite the heavy antagonism between them, and the Easterlings split into groups determined by whoever were more comfortable travel partners.

"So, a son of Durin eh, I wonder why Meska would think this of you, Thorin son of Thráin?" Rorik had said casually as the five sat at their own little campfire whilst evening fell about them. "Surely you would have told us of this were it true."

Rín watched, on high alert as Thorin glared at the blonde dwarf from across the fire, "Indeed Rorik Broadbeam," he said smoothly, "As surely as it is in your nature to be forthcoming, so it is mine."

Roriks gaze narrowed, "Such a silver tongue is yours, that some would almost start to give credence to Meskas ideas."

"Surely the ability to weave words together is not something which defines royalty?" Thorin replied snarkily, "For if it were, perhaps I would be more apt to pay your treacherous ways more heed. It is never wise to mix deception with Kingship."

Rorik snarled and quickly rose to his feet on the other side of the fire, Thorin mirroring his actions. "Leave each other be!" Rín snapped, too weary from the days walking for her temper to raise perhaps as much as it might have. "We are all in enough trouble as it already is."

The two dwarrow glared at each other, over the fire. The flickering light cast darkened shadows about Thorins face, turning him into a sinister figure; and the red of the blaze filtered onto Rorik, who suddenly became a fiery King in his rage.

Rín stared at the two male dwarves, her mouth parted in surprise. "You are right, Meska is obviously wrong." Rorik spat, staring Thorin down, "You are obviously not one who is of royal blood, for your coarseness and rudeness to your own people; your refusal to accept others who are not your kin; and your uncanny ability to feed off the goodwill of others who are too willing to trust, is what marks you otherwise."

With that, the blonde dwarf spun on his heel and stormed off into the darkness, likely in the direction of one of the other Rhûnion campfires. Rín half expected Thorin to go after Rorik, but it seemed she was to be wrong, for he simply scowled after him, before sitting down and staring broodingly into the fire.

After some time, Nannulf shifted beside her and settled into sleep, sure there would be no more interesting things to occur that he would miss. Geir was already snoring soundly on the other side of Nannulf, having explained that without sleep he'd never even get as far as Dorwinion. Not that Rín knew where Dorwinion was in any matter. Maps were not used by the Rhûnions for they already knew the land that stretched about them in every detail.

Rín didn't know how long it took her to fall asleep that first night, but it was no short amount of time, and as she began to drift off, Thorin was still glaring into the light of the fire.

Five days and four nights later, things were still so antagonistic between the dwarves that Rín felt she could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Geir was permanently grumpy after the old battle-wound in his knee started playing up, adding to the difficulty of the not-quite-healed scar on his side (not that he would admit to such weakness) and Thorin walked beside him as a silent measure of support. A measure of support who was still yet to snap out of his own grim expression.

Seeing Nannulfs boredom and all-around proneness to fidget, even when walking, Rín decided she would have to find something to distract him. After five rounds of 'I spy', however he had begun to grow bored once more and so desperately she wracked her mind for something else he could do (that did not involve her running around after him playing tag). "What about, 'Once Upon a Time' Nannulf?" Rín finally asked, after some thought, "Or would that be too difficult for you to play."

The youngling glared at her, shaking his head obstinately, "Of course I can play that game, everyone can play it..." Nannulf scoffed, "What do you have to do exactly?"

Rín fought to hold back a smile, "Well, I will say 'Once Upon a Time' and then you have to make up a story after that," she said casually, "and you cannot use one I have already told you - it must be entirely your own." she added, just as he opened his mouth.

"Of course." Nannulf glared at her loftily, "Now, a _good_ story..."

"Once Upon a Time..." Rín chimed in cheerfully, earning herself another scowl from the young dwarf. Thorin ahead of her made some sort of sound that was crossed between a snort and a hiccup, before he coughed loudly as if to clear his throat.

Nannulf sniffed imperiously, "Fine then, Once Upon a Time...there was a...a mouse. Yes a mouse I think."

"A mouse?" Rín asked in mock horror.

"Yes a mouse." Nannulf said testily, before continuing, "Who lived in a little hole in the ground with his cousins and lots of other mice...and his sister."

Ríns eyebrows raised, "Well this must have been a very big hole!"

Nannulf nodded wisely before replying "It was a very big hole. With lots of rooms for everyone to live in."

"What was this mouses name?" a male voice suddenly said, as Thorin dropped back to walk on Nannulfs other side. When the youngling scrunched his face, deep in thought, Thorin looked at her over the top of the boys head and raised his brow, Rín simply shrugged in reply. A mouse was a little odd for him to think of a story about after all.

"Bo." Nannulf finally settled on, looking rather smug with himself, "The mouses name was Bo..."

Rín smiled encouragingly when he looked to her, struggling not to laugh, "Bo...that is a very interesting name Nannulf-"

But he cut her off before she could continue, "And one day a big snake came down into his little hole and ate everyone and the snake lived happily ever after. The End." Nannulf said triumphantly, looking between the older dwarrow with a smile. "Were you surprised? Was it an interesting story? Did you guess the ending?"

Rín stared at the youngling, almost alarmed...and yet still trying not to laugh. "Well...I did not expect it. That I will say."

"Thorin?" Nannulf beamed, turning to the tall, dark-haired dwarf.

"It was very..." Thorin began to say, before something to their left seemed to catch his eye, a dark shadow, occasionally glinting in the midday sun and moving steadily closer, "...realistic."

There was a commotion from the head of the company and a mutter of Rhûnion words was steadily passed down the line until it came to a halt with the dwarrow, taking up the rear. The Easterling in front of them blinked, as if consciously trying to remember how to speak the common tongue. "Another emissary come. Not sure who." he said finally, before turning to face the front once more.

"I know who," Thorin muttered with a scowl, one hand steadily placed on his weapon as the party drew closer and their shields came into view, "Haradhrim."

* * *

**A/N: A couple of new things have been added to the ****Appendices**** if you haven't seen them already. These include a page of Useful Sources for creating your FF Middle-Earth, a new piece of FanArt (thanks to xBelekinax), as well as new Musical Selections for Inspiration (also thanks to xBelekinax for putting me onto the songs). All of which will be added to as the story continues. Take a look if you have time! :)**

**ANNOUNCEMENT/REMINDER: Just for those who are new/don't remember, I update a new chapter every Saturday night EST. Although it may not be as often as some of you may like, it means I have time to balance my other commitments with this, and you are assured of a chapter :)**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, including, ****_harrylee94, ArkenstoneBeauty, LadyDunla, whatcatydidnext, EscapingTheirReality, L. C. Doyle, Teres, UniversalIndicator, DeadheadDaisy, UKReader, bayumlikedayum, Mrs EMJC, Suheyla and Gaia-drea_****; as well as those who followed/favourited. *hugs* :)**


	24. The Haradrim

**Dedicated to the one and only L. C. Doyle, whose birthday it just so happens to be today. Your inspiration and faith in me means more than I can say. Love you xxxxx**

The Rhûnions met the Haradrim head on, the two groups forming a wary arc about each other. Thorin noted the way both groups of Easterlings held a lazy hand to their swords, and knives, although their facial expressions showed they were perfectly at ease with the others presence. He was not fooled, he knew an undercurrent of animosity when he saw it.

_"Do not react to them as if they are your enemy, you are with us." Meska had said worriedly to the dwarves as the other clan approached. "But perhaps you best let me do the talking."_

The Haradrim party was larger than theirs, Thorin realised, by four or five men; and unlike the Rhûnions, all were wearing armour. It was almost as if they were more a war party than an emissary. Why was he not surprised. It seemed things had not changed quite as much as he thought.

The Haradrim leader (or so he assumed) was the first person to step forward, the red and black of his cloak swishing slightly as he moved. "Vaidas Meska, son of Tomescu, what a surprise to see you!" the man said, in the common tongue, "We would have thought you travelled further North, not come so close to the sea of Rhûn."

"Vaidas Hazhir, son of Ediz. It has been a long time indeed." Meska replied with a polite bow of his head, also stepping forward. "Our wagons were already making the journey South for the winter when we received the summons. You are not travelling with Vaidas Ayuta and his people?"

Thorin noted the swift and effortless change in topic on Meskas part. The Haradrim, Hazhir, laughed, a harsh sound not laced with humor, "No. The Khandrim was too slow in preparation." he smirked, "In any matter, the old man is nearly on his deathbed - his son, Basu will most likely take his place as Vaidas before this winter is over."

Thorin noticed the scowl that crossed Meskas face at that tidbit of information, "Basu has as much right to lead the Khands as a ferret." he growled, "He is a fool. Another, from a different family should be elected."

Another smirk passed across Hazhirs face, "He is indeed, a fool. But perhaps that would be best for the rest of us." the man said, breaking off when he suddenly noticed Thorin and the other four dwarves. "Well, well, well Meska, what do we have here? I had realised Erebor had fallen and that there was a hunt for the dwarves that had breached its gates, but I had not realised you would wish to capture them alive."

Thorin shifted angrily in his stance, and the other dwarrow did the same. "They are Stonefoots and Ironfists from Ered Arn, the Red Mountains; and are on the way back to their kin." Meska replied easily, a small smirk slipping across his features at his next words, "They do not much like to talk to men, but have been traveling with me and my people for some time."

Hazhir eyed each of them carefully, lingering on Rín for a moment too long in Thorins opinion, before turning to him. Dark brown eyes locked with grey and both simply stared, neither blinking in a silent battle of wills. It was the Haradrim who looked away first, the all too false smile forming on his face once more as he turned to Meska.

"Since neither Ayuta nor his son is here, perhaps our tribes could travel together Meska." Hazhir said charmingly, "Since we travel, no doubt, in the same direction."

Meskas face showed no expression as he considered the other mans words, "As you wish." he replied with another polite bow of his head, "We will follow your lead."

The Haradrim smiled cockily and shouted something to his men in his own language, which Thorin found to be just as guttural, if not more-so than that of the Rhûnions. With that, the men of Harad immediately began moving again, forming a long line traveling in front of Meska and his men.

Thorin and the other dwarrow watched them go with narrowed eyes as they began to move further and further away. Meska sighed and walked over to them, an apologetic look clearly written across his features. "I am sorry." he said, "but it appears you will have to come with us."

"I do not see that at all." Thorin replied smoothly, his forehead already creasing into a frown.

"You will not get more than a mile before you are hunted down and killed. Not to mention I will have a fair amount of explaining to do and it will put my people in unnecessary danger." Meska said sharply, his eyes zeroing in on the tall, dark-haired dwarf. "There are only grasslands for hundreds of miles around us, you would have nowhere to hide."

Thorin simply scowled at nothing in particular. The Easterling did have a point, even though he was loathe to admit it, however he was willing to take that risk if the others were also. On that thought, he turned to look at the other dwarrow. Nannulf was shuffling his feet in the dirt, waiting for a decision to be made, but Thorin could clearly see through the pinched look on the younger dwarfs face, which option sounded best to him.

Rorik watched the proceedings in silence, offering no argument either war and Rín and Geir were both deep in thought. The old dwarf stroking his beard and Rín stroking her...chin (probably some sort of instinctual action). As if she knew Thorin was watching her, she looked up, her green eyes dark. "So. If we run, we die." Rín began matter-of-factly, "and if we stay, there is a possibility we will be discovered...and then we die. Lovely."

"If you run now, you will most likely run into other tribes also traveling to the Mæta." Meska added somberly. "Possibly even other clans of my own tribe. The lesser chieftains would not take you in quite as easily as I did. At least this way there is a chance. Before all the tribes and clans reach the Mæta, we will all join and become one group of people, all travelling to the same place. There is where you should leave us, as with so many people, it will be confusing to keep track of everyone. All of the tribes will be gathered in the one place, far to the East, and you could reach the West entirely unnoticed. Then would be the time to run."

"He is right." Rorik suddenly spoke up, and Thorin barely resisted the urge to growl at the blonde dwarf. As the dwarrow were about to answer, another Rhûnion drew Meskas attention away from the conversation and towards the steadily disappearing Haradrim. Quickly, the Easterling called for his men to march before turning to the dwarves once more, "I am sorry. You must come with us now, there is not enough time." Meska said, beginning to walk off, Rorik following, before stopping once more. "I truly am sorry."

Thorin glared after the steadily moving backs of the Rhûnions and the blonde dwarf, and went to make an angry move after them. A hard hand on his arm stopped him several feel away, causing him to look down into the bright green eyes that stared back up at him. "Meska...is right Thorin, and you know it." Rín said sadly, "We will simply have to accept that our fate is not in our hands at this time."

Slightly startled, Thorin reached down and covered her large hand with his own slightly larger one, prying her fingers from his arm with a frown. "We are dwarves, we do not confine ourselves to the halls of fate. That is for men and elves." he said gruffly, letting her hand drop from his, "We dwarves choose our own fate."

* * *

The sun had settled into the evening part of the sky when the company finally came to a halt and began setting up camp. This time, instead of being split into a large number of campfires further apart for privacy amongst the Rhûnions, both tribes of Easterlings split into two large bonfires, with smaller individual fires around them.

Rín noticed how close to the rest of the Rhûnion party they had been told to set up camp, in comparison to the last week; and she had a feeling it was because of the not overly friendly looks members of the two different tribes were shooting in the others direction. Meska seemed to be completely oblivious to this, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him deep in conversation with Thorin.

Rín couldn't help the sigh that escaped her. Just when she thought the tall, dark-haired dwarf was opening himself up to her, he would go and close himself off once more. She could not describe how much that hurt her, for, for all his glares, aloofness and all around coldness, she could see him for what he truly was. Someone who was as solid as rock, good and kind, was fiercely loyal to those he trusted, and who was incredibly lonely. The Once-King Thorin Oakenshield was just like the Mountain that had once been his, and her, home.

Her mother had told her once, that a dwarf woman could only open her heart once in her lifetime. Like a precious gem, it was there all along, but it had to be crafted before it could truly be beautiful. One wrong slip of the _burr_ and it's beauty would shatter. A dwarf woman only gave her love to one dwarf in her lifetime, and if he did not return it, then, like the gem, it would shatter and she would never love another. That is why Rín was so torn in accepting or resisting the unfamiliar tug that pulled at her heartstrings whenever her gaze, and that of the Once-Kings met.

A slow blossom of red fled across her wind-chapped cheeks when Thorin caught her staring at him from across the camp. Attempting to act casual, Rín felt more like a youngling caught red handed. It was embarrassing, and she closed her eyes as he walked closer, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Rín why are your cheeks red?" It was Nannulf's voice that jerked her eyes open, and she looked over at the young dwarf, her cheeks only growing redder as she tried to ignore the black boots, and the dwarf in them, now standing close enough to hear everything.

"I'm just cold Nanna." Rín grumbled, hugging her arms about her and biting the inside of her cheek. It was, after all, not entirely untrue.

Nannulf looked at her curiously, "Yes. I guess you would be, not having a beard." he mused, making Rín blink in surprise. "You should sit closer to the fire."

"No she should not, the two of you should both stand up," Thorin suddenly said, turning her attention towards him. When the pair only blinked at him in surprise, he grumbled something to himself under his breath and tramped closer. "We have taken the campfire furthest away from the Haradrim for a reason. It is to give us more time to prepare you for the inevitable. Now, both of you, stand up."

Immediately, Rín and Nannulf scrambled to their feet. Rín looked over to Geir in confusion, waiting for him to say something, but the old dwarf simply yawned back at her and closed his one good eye, before rolling over. Rín huffed at his helpfulness. A dwarf of annoyingly few words Geir was.

Green eyes suddenly met blue-grey and blinked at the sternness in them. "Rín. You first." Thorin said, shifting his stance so that his weight was equally balanced on both legs.

"First at what?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as slowly, Thorin drew his battered goblin-sword from it's equally battered sheath.

Instead of giving her a straight answer, he simply told her to pick up her own sword. Rín watched him warily, as she slowly did just that, testing the unfamiliar weight of the blade in her hands. "Now," Thorin said calmly, raising his sword so that the point was faced directly at her, "Hit me."

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was SO much fun to write!**

**A million thanks also, to my ever faithful reviewers, as well as those that are new: ****_EscapingTheirReality, xBelekinax, bayumlikedayum, UniversalIndicator, L. C. Doyle, LadyDunla, The Penned Tekrid, UK Reader, DeadheadDaisy, rothSpiegalMan, whatcatydidnext, harrylee94_**** and _MrsEMJC_ . As well as those that have followed or favourited! Thank you! I am so happy you seem to be enjoying reading! :)**

**Don't forget to occasionally check the Appendices for Updates guys! **

_**Translations:**_

_**Burr: **_**Small cutting tool like a file used for gem-cutting and shaping.**


	25. Lesson 1

Rín simply stared at him, her mouth hanging open, "You toy with me."

Thorin had drawn the two of them a little ways away from their campfire, just enough so that they would not disturb Geir. After planting a lit torch in the ground, he turned on her again.

"Do I look as if I 'toy' with you? Do I ever 'toy' with you?" Thorin asked with a raised brow (and Rín resisted the urge to tell him 'every damned day'). "Fine, so be it...Block."

"Whaaaa-" Ríns confusion was cut off as Thorin swung at her with all the force of a thousand boulders. She barely got her own goblin sword up before his came crashing down, the steel of the two blades ringing in her ears as she was forced to her knees.

Thorin then stepped away, studying her quietly as his sword went with him. "You must learn to fight. I can only protect you so far, you must know yourselves if you are to survive this." he said severely, capturing her eyes with his own and assuring her of the seriousness that lay within them. "Now, stand up again. Sword raised once more and block, right, left and up."

It seemed that this time, he would give her even less of a warning. For no sooner had Thorin given her instruction, than he swung at her. However, somehow, this time Rín was prepared...or so she thought. Her mind was changed when his sword intertwined with hers. Digging her feet into the soil, she heaved against him with all her might, only to feel something slip around her calf (his foot she realised, too late), before falling flat on her back. Thorins sword at her throat.

"You must always watch everything around you." he said sternly, withdrawing his blade once more and stepping away as Rín begrudgingly got to her feet. "Your opponents will use any means to make sure they are the ones that walk away. There is no code of behaviour in war. There is only survival, or death."

They went like that even after the sun had slipped below the horizon, simply moving closer to the fire in order to see each other better. Rín and Nannulf took turns against Thorin, who never tired and never stopped. Each 'battle' between Rín and the Once-King grew more aggressive and more complicated (in Ríns opinion - although Thorin never seemed to exert himself much) with each attempt, but Nannulfs stagnated after his third try.

"I'll never be any good at this." Nannulf wailed, dropping to the ground and putting his head in his arms.

Just as Rín moved to comfort the tawny-haired dwarf, Thorin beat her to it. "Do not worry yourself too much Nannulf." he said, not unkindly, dropping down to sit beside him. "I once knew someone just like you, who had the most terrible of problems with weapons, that it could make yours fade in comparison."

"Really?" The youngling asked dolefully, raising his head hesitantly from his arms.

"Really." Thorin answered matter-of-factly, making Rín smile slightly at his manner. "You see, I simply showed him that you must stop thinking of your sword as a sword, and instead see it as an extension of your arm. Do you understand?"

Rín sniggered at the bewildered look on Nannulfs face, "Not really..." he answered, "Can you show me?"

Thorin was silent and sombre as he placed a hand on the boys head, "Yes." he said quietly, getting to his feet and pulling Nannulf with him, "Yes I can show you."

So he did, and by the end of it, the scrappy youngling was fighting with more spirit than Rín had ever seen in him. Exhausted, but eyes still-bright, Nannulf collapsed on the ground, and suddenly it was her turn.

Wearily, Rín got to her feet and faced off against the Once-King. The only sign of any tiredness in the other dwarf was the slight perspiration at his brow, and the faint tick in his jaw that Rín had begun to learn, came when he was fatigued.

"Are you ready?" Thorin asked, pointing his blade directly at her, just like the first time.

"Ye-" Rín began, until, just like the first time she was cut off when he swung at her. With a squeak she ducked under the sword, and parried against the following blow. "What if I wasn't ready?" she said between gritted teeth as she tried unsuccessfully to push him away.

"Then you would be dead." Thorin replied emotionlessly, shoving her backwards.

Incensed at his attitude, Rín tried to fight back harder, but seemingly to no avail. Just when she thought she would slip through his defences, the dark-haired dwarf would whirl at her seemingly out of nowhere, in fact, she spent more time on the defensive than offensive, and it was frustrating.

More tired than she could say, Rín heaved her sword like it was a pickaxe and brought it smashing down, in the hope that it would end this little lesson either way, whether she disarmed him (not that it was likely); or him, her (now that, was more likely). At least it would all be over and she could finally just go to sleep.

In two seconds, Rín felt herself shouldered flat on her back, all the air pushed from her lungs. Winded, she slowly staggered to her feet, and looked on incredulously when Thorin looked like he was ready to begin sparring once more.

"You must be joking." Rín said flatly, too tired to even push her hair from her eyes.

"I already said I-"

"I know, I know," Rín said, holding up her hand and cutting Thorin off, much to his obvious displeasure, "'You do not toy with me', well I am not toying with you now when I say enough is enough. I am going to bed now and nothing you can do will stop me. I will be no use to anyone if I cannot even walk in the morning."

With that, she picked up her sword and resheathed it, before plodding over to Nannulf and hauling him to his feet. The young dwarf was almost asleep, blinking and sagging against her as she began walking closer to their fire. A few steps away, she turned back to Thorin, Nannulf leaning heavily on her shoulder.

"Well? Are you coming?" Rín asked with a raised brow, one hand on her hip (covertly helping her remain standing), the other supporting the sleeping youngling beside her. "You should not stay out here alone, besides, who will help me get Nannulf back to our fire?"

Thorin simply frowned, before sheathing his own sword and joining her on the other side supporting Nannulf. "You did well." he said quietly, after a few steps, and Rín blushed in pride at the Once-Kings praise, glad the darkness hid the red of her cheeks, "Although you still mostly wield your sword as if it is a pickaxe..."

Rín scowled. So much for glowing praise. "I highly doubt you were any better than I when you first wielded a sword." she said stiffly, "In fact, I would go so far as to guess you were worse."

"That would perhaps be because I was even younger than Nannulf here, the first time I handled weaponary." Thorin replied gruffly, "You would have been considered far too old to be taught any sort of skill with a blade in my Age."

Rín blinked, as she put out the little fire they had been using as a source of light, "Too old?" she growled, her eyes narrowing, "I am in the _prime_ of my life! Unlike you gamil khuzdûn."

Thorins beard twitched in the darkness and Rín got the distinct feeling he was silently laughing at her, "Did you just call me old one nithith?" he said, a slow, and entirely real smile spreading across his face, only for her.

Rín smiled shyly back over the tawny head of hair that separated them, before her gaze shifted to a more mischievous expression, "Well how could I let you get away with such an insult to my ability."

White teeth flashed at her in the darkness, and Thorin grinned at her, before his face became solemn once more, as did hers (although it infuriated her when he did that, changing moods so quickly). "I did not know our language continued, I have not heard it spoken once here in this place."

Rín looked down, trying to look like she was watching where her feet stepped, "It was not allowed in Erebor. Anyone caught speaking our language was beaten." she said quietly, "So it is habit now, only to speak Westron."

They were silent after that, for the mood had shifted once more. "Thorin..." Rín suddenly said, swallowing her worries and making up her mind.

"Yes?" came the reply through the darkness.

Rín bit her bottom lip, "If we do manage to survive this and make it into the West, what will you do?"

Embarrassed at asking the question, Rín looked at her feet and waited for a reply, when she got none, she looked up to see an unreadable mask fixed on Thorins face once more, "I do not know." he said finally, "Perhaps I will travel and try to discover why I am here."

"Oh." Rín said, a little dejectedly.

Thorin looked across and studied her for a moment "Let us not think on 'what if' now." he said quietly, "Instead, let us focus on 'what is'."

Rín nodded and gazed into their campfire, which they were steadily approaching. Gently, she prodded Nannulf into a state that was more away and gestured him towards his own bedroll. Without a word, the youngling set off, and she was left alone with the tall, dark dwarf by her side.

"I have not felt so achey since the first time I lifted a pickaxe." Rín grumbled irritably.

She could positively feel Thorin smirking beside her, and had no need to look and confirm her suspicion as she could easily hear it in his voice. "You are not used to using the muscles needed for swordcraft. They are slightly different from those used in mining."

Rín growled to herself, as she stomped over to her bedroll, in no mood for the teasing of any male dwarrow after such an exhausting day, "How wonderful."

Rín stumbled back to her bedroll in the dark, completely ignoring the commotion caused when Nannulf tripped over a heavily snoring Geir. Planting her head, face-first into the pack that served as a pillow, she groaned at the horrible ache in her muscles. Just when she thought she could slip into the oblivion of sleep, she was awakened with a prod. The tip of a heavy boot nudged her side and she opened one eye to glare up at Thorin, who was staring down at her with an expression that was not overly concerned.

"We will do the same every night until you are able to disarm me." Thorin said matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders.

Rín groaned and scuffed her foot against the ground in mock-dismay, "And what if I am never able to disarm you?" she grumbled.

Thorin raised his eyebrow at her, "Then we will have to the same every night for the rest of our lives." he replied drolly, evidently not impressed with the horrified look on her face.

"Right ray of sunshine and light you are." she mumbled into her pack.

Thorins eyes narrowed into a glare, "What did you say?"

"Nothing." Rín said innocently, entirely too tired to engage in a battle of words that night. The state she was in, there was no way she could win.

"Do not worry." the dark-haired dwarf said as he lowered himself to his own bedroll. "You will become more skilled with time. Probably."

Rín only grunted in response and turned her face back into her 'pillow'. "But time is not something we have much of." she mumbled in reply, before sleep opened its dark arms and drew her into it's embrace.

* * *

The Rhûnion had watched the trio of dwarves stumble back into camp through narrowed eyes. The Khuzd made him uncomfortable, and he did not like the way they spoke, the way they acted, or the danger they placed on their party. Perhaps time would show a way of remedying the pestilence these half-men brought with them.

* * *

**A/N: So Y'all made me very nervous with most of the reviews in the last chapter citing anticipation about the 'fight scene' between Thorin and Rín. As this chapter was already written a week and a half ago, hopefully it lives up to your expectations!**

**Randomly, I found this review in a fic I had a read of recently, talking about the main character:**

Mary-Sue's are characters who carry at least one of the following traits.

*Have non-normal names

*Have a nickname

*Describe the character in question's physical apearence in great detail and/or often

*Is crucial to the plot

*Is different than everyone else

*Chararcters are attracted to the Mary-Sue for no reason

**It made me laugh (you can probably guess why). I'm not sure I agree with all their points. Do you? (But then again, I'm not entirely sure what the exact nature of a Mary Sue is. Although I do know they're normally perfect.)**

**Thanks to _harrylee94, xBelekinax, LadyDunla, Samolfran, The Penned Tekrid, L. C. Doyle, whatcatydidnext, UniversalIndicator, TolkeinGirl, rothSpiegelMan, EscapingTheirReality, Suheyla, MrsEMJC, UKReader, JuliMaus89, and DeadheadDaisy_ for reviewing. As well as those who joined the following/favouriting. :)**

_**Translations (vague and most probably grammatically incorrect):**_

**_Gamil khuzdûn:_ old dwarf (male)**

**_Nithith:_ young girl**


	26. Troubles

**This chapter is dedicated to UKReader and Gaia-drea. You are both amazing.**

A week and a half passed in much the same manner as days had gone previously. Awakening at first light, walking for as long as the sun was up; stopping on occasion for short, sporadic, meals; and Thorin teaching swordcraft to them as night fell about them. Men might have found fighting in the darkness difficult, but the dwarrow did not. Sometimes, the dark felt more of a kin to them than the sun did.

Geir would occasionally watch from the sidelines, if he did not fall asleep as soon as he sat down. For all his strength and stamina, Thorin could see that the old dwarfs strength was fading. His skin, once pale from so many years beneath the ground, had increasingly begun to turn an ashen shade, Rín worried for him, but Geir would not have her coddling or her worry and doggedly pushed onwards,

Rín herself was a worry (in Thorins mind in any matter). She was progressing, slowly, but well in her sword lessons (although she did still have that pickaxe mentality) and her constant cheerfulness was admirable in light of their current, less than happy situation. What made her a worry was the way she smiled. It was distracting. Moreso than he would ever admit.

The blonde one, Rorik, had not spoken a word to any of the dwarrow since his fight with him. In fact, not even a look, hostile or otherwise had been exchanged. For all intents and purposes, it seemed that to Rorik, they did not exist at all. Their argument had unsettled Thorin more than he would admit. He still did not like the Broadbeam, that was true, but the others words had cut closer to the bone than Thorin cared for. In truth, it was part of the reason he had begun teaching the younger two how to defend themselves.

"You seem deep in thought, Thorin." a deep voice spoke up beside him, jerking Thorin from his thoughts. Meska smiled slightly as the dwarf grunted in acknowledgement, "The other lesser chieftains of my clan already come, as do those of the Haradrim. The Khandrim should not be far behind. We will stop tonight at Emyn Njul, the Hills of the Moon."

Thorin frowned, "I am not familiar with the lands East of the Iron Hills." he said quietly, so only the tall Rhûnion could hear. "But I have heard the stories your people tell of these hills. How much further until we reach our destination?"

"Another two weeks at best. We'll be going slower soon as more join our party." Meska said, his eyes troubled, "I will give you a map detailing the route best taken to get you back to the West in a few days. It would not be wise to talk of such things now."

Thorin nodded, his face grim as the man said a farewell and walked further up the line. Interactions between the dwarrow and the Haradrim had been scarce so far, and Thorin intended for it to stay that way. Nannulf in particular was a worry to him. He had seen how easily the youngling adopted the Rhûnions, and he could see, clear as day, his curiosity about these new humans. The boy was even worse than Fílí and Kílí.

Thinking on his nephews and those he left behind was gradually becoming easier, although it still sent a jolt of pain straight to his chest when they crossed his mind. What troubled him most was that he didn't know what happened to the rest. How they had lived. How they had died. And the fact that he had no way of knowing was what frustrated him even more.

Who had the throne passed to after him? He had seen Fílí and Kílí fall, defending him, and so Thorin knew it had not been his nephews. The only possible answer was Dáin, but he had never much liked his cousin from the Iron Hills, for all they were blood relations. One did not forget a refusal to come to aid so easily. The thought of his throne left him uneasy, and his mind turned to whomever the disposed-king of Durin's Folk was now. That is. If there was anyone left.

* * *

"How long have we got?" Durin asked darkly, looking into the eyes of each member of his close council. Gálmód, Túrin and Hallmund had followed him from the main council chamber and two more, Flói and Azaghâl, Lords of the Firebeard and Broadbeam dwarven clans respectively, had joined them.

"No more than three weeks my Lord." Gálmód answered, his pitted face grave. "The new Sachem appears to have called together all the forces at his disposal and marches now. The army is moving from the far East in this direction at an alarming rate of speed. We do not have a lot of time to prepare ourselves. "

Durin frowned thoughtfully as his mind raced along which paths best to take. "Perhaps diplomacy would serve us well here?" Túrin offered hesitantly, wetting his lips with his tongue.

"There is no reasoning with an Easterling!" Flói scoffed, as he banged his fist on the table in front of him. "You men have squandered the time you were given, even though Lord Durin has insisted you act before now! Let us not waste this time we have been given any longer!"

The Once-King of Gondor drew himself up indignantly, "Rather than charge off without a thought to anyone, _dwarf,_ I am more concerned with the care and wellbeing of my people, if diplomacy-"

"Why you-" Flói began, his red hair and beard frizzing out around him in anger; but he was cut off by Durin.

"Enough!" The dark haired dwarf roared, before calming once more, and rubbing a tired hand across his eyes, "We do not have time. Please remain civil with one another, it will serve none of us if we are at our own throats."

The man and dwarf simply glared at each other, but still fell silent. "Perhaps, we should prepare ourselves for the worst in any matter." Hallmud spoke up quietly, making all eyes turn on him, "Each of us prepare our soldiers and organise a plan for refugees amongst our people to flee."

"Flee to where?" Azaghâl butted in grimly, the blonde-haired dwarf shifting on the spot. "Our people have nowhere to go. We are surrounded by Easterlings to the East, and sea to the West. There is nowhere we can run to."

Durin sighed. "They should head North, to the mountains. Their safety will not be guaranteed but at least they will have a better chance of survival." he said quietly, "How many warriors do you have here in the Mountains as we speak?"

"Rohan offers two-thousand men encamped here now," the Horse Lord replied, "and several hundred more scattered to the North and South."

Túrin was the next to speak, "Gondor has two-and-a-half-thousand men encamped in the Shire, and two-hundred here in the Blue mountains. We have several hundred scattered North and South also."

Durin nodded his thanks, before turning to the Lords of the Firebeards and Broadbeams. "We have one thousand dwarves here my Lord Durin." Azaghâl said suddenly, "And two-hundred South, at The Gap."

"My people number nine-hundred here, my lord. With one-hundred and fifty at The Gap." Flói answered grimly.

"So, around seven-thousand soldiers currently at our disposal." Durin murmured. "How soon can the rest be called up?"

"Five, six days?" Hallmund replied. "It will take some time to reach the different colonies."

Durin nodded. "Do it then."

* * *

Geir shifted the small pack on his shoulders into a more comfortable position. The wound in his leg was staring to ache again, along with the rest of him. The clouds that had hovered overhead for the last few days, were beginning to roll closer, and the shadow of the hills they were to camp near to rose steadily higher in the distance.

What more could one worry about now? He had more concerns now than he ever had in the depths of Easterling-controlled Erebor. It was ironic really. Four of said concerns were walking and talking ahead of him.

The party of Rhûnions and dwarves tramped through the afternoon, until finally, Geir founding himself staring at the rolling, and slightly morbid-looking hills of Emyn Njul. Named as 'Hills of the Moon' for the way their grassy slopes seemed to glow with the light reflecting from the nearby lake and the night sky. With a sigh, he set his pack; which throughout the day had seemed to become steadily, more and more laden with bricks, on the ground as the others did the same.

He might have only had one eye, but a blind dwarf could have seen the little problem that was brewing in their campfire. Geir knew he was old (Two hundred and seventy two years old to be exact), but he was not too old to see the beginnings of attraction when he saw it. He noticed the shy glances Rín was sending in a certain tall, dark-haired dwarf's direction when she though he was not looking. He also noticed the way she let her guard down whenever Thorin came near.

Not that he didn't mind him, but there was something...off, about him. Every since he had lost his eye (at the tender age of one hundred and seventeen), Geir had sharpened the manner in which he used his remaining one. There were several, little things wrong with Thorin son of Thrain. The first, was the manner in which he spoke (his accent was slightly...different, although familiar), the second was his entire bearing, and that Geir knew for a _fact_ he bore a remarkable similarity to Durin VII.

Also, contrary to popular belief, Geir was not a warrior and had never been, even though he could handle himself in a fight (it had been an unfortunate accident whilst helping his warrior brother that he had lost his eye - although he would never tell his companions that). He had, however, been a tailor, and there were several things about the clothes of Thorin son of Thrain that did not make sense.

For one, his clothes were made for someone of a stouter build, and although it was not uncommon for dwarves to wear clothes that did not fit them, the belt that cinched at his waist was not one he had ever quite seen the like of. The detail was more intricate than he had seen in many years, and although well worn, the clasp was large, and eye-catching. It tugged something at the back of his mind.

The way the tall-dwarf's tunic fell about his shoulders and across the planes of his chest, there was something odd. One side, on the right of his chest, the cloth of his tunic was rumpled but fairly straight. On the left side however, above Thorin's heart, Geir would bet his other eye, was something else. The fabric bulged unusually as if something lay beneath it, between the layers of cloth.

A Geir watched, Thorin bent down to take a small wooden bowl from Rín who knelt by the fire dishing stew into bowls; and he saw the way she murmured to him, and the smile that her words, whatever they were, produced.

Silently, he watched as Rorik was the next to have stew ladled into his soup bowl. Geir studied the blonde dwarf quietly from where he sat. He looked haggard about the edges. Their travels were wearing down on him just as thin.

Suddenly, the clouds broke and rain began pelting down from the sky. The hills offered no shelter and so, begrudgingly, the dwarves quickly pulled out their tents, working faster even as the rain fell harder. It was then that it happened, Geir saw him slip into the fray of men and dwarves. The old man with his face hooded, and body hunched over his staff. As he pushed his sopping hair back from his eyes, the man turned, and showed his face, cragged with age, but beard still as black as night before he disappeared, with a flourish, into the tent of Vaidas Meska.

* * *

**A/N: Phew. Tell you what guys, I pretty much had to squeeze this one out. Thank Two Steps From Hell for getting me through this. Their music, especially the songs "Birth of a Hero", "Caradhras", "Nero" (surprisingly my favourite) and "Aesir"for getting me through it. Massive inspiration. Amazing music (don't be scared off by the name of the band people! :) )**

**Now, who saw what coming eh? ;) Hopefully everyone has picked up that the timelines (between our company and Durin) are staggered.**

**I have to have a MASSIVE shout out this chapter! OVER 300 REVIEWS! I am one happy chevappi! To everyone who has followed, and favourited so far, I am honoured. To all of those who have reviewed, especially last chapter - to: harrylee94, xBelekinax, TolkienGirl, whatcatydidnext, ArkenstoneBeauty, Gaia-drea, UKReader, DeadheadDaisy, Suheyla, LadyDunla, The Penned Tekrid, Samolfran, bayumlikedayum, Beloved Daughter, rothSpeigelMan, and MrsEMJC. The most reviews for a chapter ever.**

**Love y'all :) xxxxxxx**


	27. Pallando the Blue

**This one's for ****_Fellowship of Avengers_****, who has only just started reading and yet, has gone and reviewed nearly every chapter. Cheers.**

* * *

The five dwarrow had been huddled in the tent for several hours as the rain poured outside. Geir was on his sleeping roll, hands over his chest and eyes almost closed. Rín sighed as she ran her fingers through Nannulf's hair once more. The boy couldn't sleep with all the thunder and lightening crashing outside and the feel of her running her fingers through his hair had always calmed him in the past.

There was a particularly large rumble of thunder then, and Rín's hackles raised when lightening flashed, highlighting two shilouettes just outside their tent. Rorik and THorin were on their feet in an instant, swords drawn. Startled, Rín reached for her own blade, Nannulf suddenly sitting bolt upright. But it was all for naught when it was Meska's rain-soaked head and shoulders that slipped through the opening. Swords disappeared into sheaths with a quiet hiss as the Rhûnion stepped fulling into the tent.

It was suddenly fairly crowed with the five dwarves, Meska and the man in the blue cloak that followed him. Rín eyed the tall, cloaked and shadowed man warily as Meska began to speak. "My friends, Rundas surely smiles upon us sending us such a night as this." he said, grinning widely, "It is time to discuss how you will make your way to the West."

"Who is he?" Rorik asked suspiciously, jerking his head in the direction of the cloaked figure.

Meska smiled sagely, "Do not worry, he is a friend," he said as slowly, one hand holding on his staff, the cloaked man pulled back his hood with the other. "I would like to introduce you to my oldest friend and advisor, Pallando the Blue, and the Last."

Rín blinked in surprise as she studied the other man - or, not man, if what Meska was saying was true. His still-dark hair was long, but not as long as some, and hung only to his shoulders in thick black waves. All in all, she thought she could only see one silver hair amongst them. His beard was the same inky black colour and cropped close to his face.

"I am known by many names, Pallando and Rómestámo among them, but you may call me Pallando." Dark brown eyes coldly assessed every one of them, and in a move that seemed almost unconscious, his fingers shifted on his staff, drawing Rín's eyes to it. There was no way, it was simply an old mans walking stick. Firstly, if her eyes did not deceive her, it was made entirely out of stone and crystal - an odd choice for a walking stick. The rainbow of colours that belonged to Bismuth glittered back at her in the depths of the main piece and Rín blinked in fascination.

What she had originally thought was some type of knotwork made out of clear calcite, which looped in circles around the outside of the staff, on closer inspection, proved to be a never-ending pattern of snakes, biting one another's tails.

"A wizard." Rín looked at Thorin then, unsure at his tone of voice as he continued, "The last wizard? What happened to the others?"

Pallando's eyes turned on the dark-haired dwarf, narrowing slightly as he studied him, "There were originally five, Saruman the White, Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, and Alatar the Blue, as well as myself. Saruman was turned to the Dark Lord Sauron at the end of the Third Age and aided him in the Last War of Men and Elves, the War of the Ring. There are two stories of how he died, the first, tells that he was stabbed in the back by his servant and thrown from the top of Orthanc; the second, that after entering the Shire, he tried to attack its people with his magic and was also stabbed by his advisor. Which story is true I cannot say.

Gandalf the Grey and Alatar the Blue shared a similar fate, although it differed in several ways. Gandalf the Grey was killed in the Mines of Moria, slaying the Balrog, Durin's Bane but the Vala saw fit to bring him back to Middle-Earth and he became Gandalf the White. He helped raise an army to fight the darkness that came from Mordor, and when the Ring of Power was destroyed, sailed into the West to Valinor."

"What happened to Alatar?" The quiet voice of Nannulf broke through the heavy silence of the tent, and the wizards eyes turned on the young dwarf. "You said he shared a similar fate to Gandalf."

The lines on Pallando's face seemed to grow taunt, "Yes, young master dwarf. Similar in that he too died, slain by those he thought he could call friends at the most critical point of the War of the Ring."

"And Radagast?" Rín looked about, startled at the sound, until she realised the question had come from her own lips.

Slowly, Pallando turned and considered her, and all at once, she was hit, full force by his eyes. She had never seen eyes so old and so infinite, filled with so many more lifetimes than a mortal. "Radagast, I do not know, he never passed into the West over the sea, and I do not think he was killed by some mortal blow. However, I do believe, that he faded, for I think Yavanna never intended for his work amongst the beasts and plants to be finished. I think he still resides in Middle-Earth, only in spirit."

"How did you come to know the Rhûnions?" the suspicious voice of Rorik spoke up then, and Pallando's eyes once again turned.

"Master dwarf, if I were to tell you all that has passed in the years of my life in Arda, we would be forever standing in this tent." Pallando said with a faint constriction of his eyebrows, "However I will tell you this. Rundas, the God worshiped by the Rhûnion people, is simply Oröme in another name, the Valar who sent me into Arda to rise a rebellion in the East, against Sauron; children of both the last Beornings and nomadic men who lived near the sea of Rhûn, their people have been my greatest ally for many thousands of years."

"Beornings?" Thorin's voice cut in loudly and suddenly, his blue eyes staring straight at Meska, as if seeing him for the first time.

Meska blinked, eyeing Thorin warily, "Yes, Beornings."

"What are Beornings Thorin?" Nannulf asked curiously, his once bright voice suddenly quieter and more collected. Rín looked at him in surprise, something had changed in the young dwarf, between the time they had stepped into the tent and now.

"Beornings are, or were, skin changers," Thorin replied, albeit a bit hesitantly, as if he did not fully wish to extrapolate on his outburst, his eyes never leaving the Rhûnion, "Able to take the form of men, or great bears."

All dwarven eyes zeroed in on Meska, but the man just laughed, "That is only a legend told by other tribes who did not like the fact that our people dared to make peace with the people of Middle-Earth after the War of the Ring. "

Thorin simply frowned in reply and did not question further, his eyes dark and troubled. Rín however, noticed the way Meska looked at Thorin, as if with the curiosity that comes with fresh eyes. Pallando too, was studying him with some intensity, and she shifted in her stance uncomfortably.

"Well my friends, perhaps we should leave you now to rest, there are many things for us to do, and we will all need to be well rested for tomorrow." Meska began again, inclining his head to the five, before beginning to retreat from the tent.

Pallando too inclined his head, addressing each of them in turn, "Geir, son of Beir; Nannulf, son of Osk; Rorik, son of Melak...Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór," Rín noticed the slight jerk that came from Thorin, as his name was said, and then the wizard was looking on her before he left the tent, seeming to strip her soul bare with his eyes, and leaving her face heated with something akin to embarrassment, "and Rín, daughter of Nannulf and Thyra, I bid you goodnight."

The five dwarrow were left staring after the wizard, as, with a whirl of blue, he disappeared from the tent. "He knew a lot about us." Geir finally said, breaking the tense silence that held the air between them. "You wouldn't have anything to do with that would you Rorik?"

The dwarf in question snorted irritably, "Not likely," he grumbled, eyeing the space where the wizard had disappeared irritably, "I do not dish out details of my lineage to anyone lightly, and I doubt any other would either... that is, except for you, Thorin, son of Thráin, although, son of Thrór is a new addition."

"Oh be quiet Rorik," Rín snapped, her mind racing through thousands of possibilities. She turned again when she noticed Thorin starting for the tent flap after Pallando. "Where are _you_ going now?"

Cool, stormy grey eyes turned on her, but Rín refused to quail, "I need to speak with him." Thorin said calmly and she huffed as the tall, dark dwarf quietly slipped from the tent. Everything seemed to be slipping from her fingers, and she'd be damned if she'd let them. Rín tapped her foot against the hard ground impatiently for several minutes after he had gone, before finally heading out after him.

"You know, it's almost a little bit sad the way you follow him like a puppy." Rorik's drawl followed her as she made to leave, but rather engage in argument with the blonde dwarf, Rín simply snarled at him, before disappearing into the dark of the night.

Meska's tent was not hard to find, and that was exactly where she assumed the Once-King would be. Something however, urged her not to enter, and so she stayed where she was, outside; but, Aulë forgive her; listening to every word that went on inside.

* * *

"You know who I am." Thorin said calmly, but his heart beating erratically. Meska had left them, at Pallando's request.

The blue wizard stared at him silently for a moment before replying, "Yes, I do." he said finally, "It is hard not to mistake a son of Durin, especially one such as yourself. Tell me, do you still have the Arkenstone, or was that taken back by the mountain with time?"

Thorin could not stop himself from snapping back, "What business is it of yours?" he snarled, unconsciously, running his hands over the stone that rested beneath him tunic, beating in time with his heart.

Pallando stared owlishly back at him, and suddenly, Thorin realised what he had sounded like, "I apologise." he said lowly, clamping down on the part of him that was angry and suspicious, that Thorin from before the Battle of the Five Armies, "It is hard for me sometimes."

"I understand." came the quiet reply from the blue wizard. "May I see it?"

Thorin's blood froze at those words, and suddenly, he found himself at war with himself. The gold-lust that he had thought lay buried now, deep within him, tried emphatically to rise to the surface and send him running from the tent. The quiet arrogance of his Kingship was telling him that he had no need to do what a _wizard _said, after all, he was a King; and yet, another, even quieter, newer part of him, a voice of reason that sounded distinctly _female_, was whispering in the corners of his mind to do as asked and hand it over.

Gritting his teeth, Thorin swallowed and reached his hand under his tunic, pulling forth the Arkenstone of the once mighty kingdom of Erebor, before depositing it into the outstretched hands of the wizard.

"I had heard legends of the beauty of this stone." Pallando breathed, running his hands over the surface of the gem. "But it is more beautiful than any I know."

As the wizard studied, Thorin's mind was racing, allowing him to hope beyond hope that here he would find the answers that he sought. "Why was I raised from the dead, what is this enchantment that keeps me here, tied to the world?"

Pallando snorted, "This is no enchantment." he said cryptically, "You have been given another chance at life, you are no ghost, you are real flesh and blood-"

"Even still, I do not understand what have I done to deserve such _torture_." Thorin replied, his confusion slipping into his voice. The plague on his mind beginning to tear at his senses as he began to pace the small tent.

Pallando frowned as he considered the Once-King before him. "I cannot say why this has happened, although there is a reason, there is all a reason, but that is truly what you feel this new life is?"

"How can it not be?" Thorin snapped, continuing his pacing, "I wish I had never breathed again, I wish I had stayed in death."

"Are you sure you have gained nothing?"

"There is nothing for me here but agony at the knowledge that I am powerless and useless to everyone." Thorin said in blindless fury, allowing the despair that had been gnawing at him for weeks of months and making him weak, spill forth, "I have no one, and nothing except this stone, even Orcrist has been taken from me. All I want is to pass back into the abyss of the deathsleep."

"If that is what you think-"

But Thorin had heard enough, and told more than he had wished, "Goodnight wizard." he said sharply, wanting no further part in this conversation, and with a quick move, he had snatched the Arkenstone from Pallando's hand, returning it to its pocket, before marching towards the tent entrance.

Pulling back the tent-flap to reach outside however, he was met with a very white face, and the shocked eyes that belonged to his voice of reason. "So there is nothing for you here?" Rín whispered so quietly, his ears strained to hear. Immediately, for some reason, part of him felt guilty, and he reasoned, he had, after all, promised to help her and the others return to the West.

"I am a King without a people. I am at a loss as to my place in this world. No one understands me, or my position. My family are dead, my friends are dead. The world I knew is gone." Thorin said, a little heatedly, but still, her blank stare did not waver from his.

"Your arrogance blinds you - this world does not revolve around you and your petty conceptions about what a life should be. Everything is bigger and more complex than you think, you should realise that."

Thorin stepped back in surprise at the harshness that was laced throughout Rín's voice, and he watched in silence as she whirled on her heel and returned to her tent. "Thorin Oakenshield, you are and would still be, a wise and just King, but in some things you are more wrong than you can possibly begin to realise." the quiet voice of Pallando spoke from above his shoulder, and Thorin was left with an emotion he had never liked very much. Doubt.

* * *

**A/N: So much research and consideration went into this chapter, which is the turning point in the story, that it is just not funny. My mind is meeellltttiiinnnngggg! Who guessed about everything that was revealed in this chapter? Was I subtle enough to hint it all well, or was I SO subtle, that you had no idea? :P**

**This story will eventually tie in with the mythos I am creating in my LotR story, so there was a little teensy weensy bit of a spoiler there if any of you are reading that too, but oh well. In Tolkiens writings he never stated exactly what happened to the two Blue Wizards and similarly with Radagast, saying he 'did not know', therefore, I felt I had room to put my own theories in, which help the plots of my story(ies).**

**Bismuth and Clear Calcite, are two gemstones that I thought were most reflective of the role of Pallando in the East, which was to help create a rebellion against the followers of Sauron. Rín is a dwarf. Dwarves should just know everything about stones in my opinion. **

**Bismuth is "a 'transmitter crystal' that can absorb, store and amplify energy and intent. " "Bismuth is said to enhance teamwork and cooperation, inspiration and creativity."**

**"Clear, translucent Calcite, also known as 'Iceland Spar', is double refractive, which means that if you hold it like a magnifying glass over a line of text you should see a double image of the text through the stone. Iceland Spar is believed to have been used by Norse seafarers as a navigation aid. Calcite is said to open doors, create unexpected opportunities and shed light on problems, helping you to find inspired solutions even when the situation seems hopeless."**

**You can probably see why I decided on these for Pallando** **or Rómestámo, the 'east-helper'. (All information here is taken from the site 'Snazzdragon', I claim no ownership, and look there if you're interested, they have quite a bit of amazing info on crystals and stones.) Picture of the staff coming soon to the Appendices :)**

**Many thanks to ****_xBelekinax, ladymoonscar, Teres, The Penned Tekrid, ArkenstoneBeauty, UKReader, LadyDunla, L. C. Doyle, whatcatydidnext, Deadhead Daisy_**** and of course, ****_Fellowship of Avengers_ for reviewing****; as well of those of you that followed and favourited :) **


	28. The River Tungl

It was four days later that the company of dwarves, a wizard, and Easterlings came to the Two Teeth. The river Tungl, that trickled down from Emyn Njúl grew into a lake, before forming a gushing torrent and then diverting into the three rivers. Rivers called the Two Teeth, which separated them from Roskilde; their destination, and capital city of the Vajördon people.

Meska had explained quietly, that the river flowed too fast and too hard for them to cross, and although the Teeth were not much better, they were still safer than the river Tungl itself. To add to the gravity of the crossing, the group the dwarves travelled with had changed immensely in only four days.

The number of Easterlings had swollen from only thirty-something, to over two hundred and more still came. Several different clans of Khandrims, with their geometric tattoos and olive-coloured skin had joined them, as well as more Rhûnions and Haradrim. The former of whom were met with cheers and whoops from their allies and the latter, cursory nods and more than a little suspicious glances.

Thorin found himself spending more time with the wizard Pallando than anyone else. The lessons in swordcraft had halted when the number of people travelling with them had grown, but he could still see Nannulf occasionally twitching his arms and legs, as if he was practicing within his mind. Talking with the old Blue Wizard had made him feel more at ease with what had happened in his absence, for here too was someone older than the rest, someone who could remember times of long past, and someone who was the last.

He learned as much as he could of the history of his people, all that he had missed. It was an odd thing, to think on what you had once thought your future would be, what it had ended like, and what had come after. Pallando had heard of several things, for it seemed that Gandalf, after having travelled with the dwarves and speaking of the wizards he had not seen for many hundreds of years, had sent many messages to find them, to give and receive news.

Thorin squeezed his eyes shut and sent a prayer to Mahal when he heard of the death of his kinsmen in Moria, Balin and Ori - the old and the unlikely. Pallando did not know of what happened to the other brothers, Nori and Dori, nor did he know of what happened to Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, and part of Thorin hoped at least that they lived lives of fullness after the Battle of Five Armies. He did however report that Dwalin survived to an age incredible even for a dwarf. Thorin almost smiled.

After he had learned as much as he could about the past, Thorin had turned his thoughts to the present, feeling far lighter than he had since waking in this new Age, and that is where the fourth day found him. It had taken quite a bit of him to ask the Blue Wizard about the Arkenstone, and if there was anyway he could find out how it had awoken. Pallando had simply stared at him, most probably considering his next words.

"I have been pondering this for some time, and I can only think of one way..." the blue wizard said quietly, his weathered hands stroking the crystal snakes that patterned his staff. Thorin blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him when he thought he saw the gems move. Stones were not living creatures. "and even then, there is no surety that what I have in mind still exists, or will work at all."

"What is this thing that you speak of Master Wizard?" Thorin asked, his eyes moving from the staff back to the wizard, a small shred of hope filtering into the cavity of his chest.

Pallando looked him in the eye as he spoke, "The mirror of Galadrial."

Thorins eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Galadriel...It sounds elvish." he replied, "Was that not the name of the elf-witch of Lothlórien?"

"That it was." Pallando said calmly. "The Lady Galadriel - hardly a witch."

"Hmpf." was Thorin's only grumbled reply. Perhaps, long ago, he had forgiven the elves of Mirkwood and their King, but that did not mean he had to like their kind in general.

"I thought you had given up your hate of elven-kind, Master Thorin." the blue wizard answered, one brow raiding slightly higher than the other.

Thorin snorted softly at that, "Old habits die hard." He had meant it as a play at dry humor, but Pallando did not quite understand that, judging by the grim look on his face. A mild thought that Rín would have understood flashed across Thorins mind, before disappearing into the night sky.

"You will be somewhat pleased to know then, that the last of the elves passed many thousands of years ago. The time of the elves has come and gone, and now they have all disappeared from the lands of Middle Earth, never to return." Pallando said quietly, and part of Thorin, for all he felt no love for their race, did not want to believe the dark-haired wizard, but another part knew he spoke the truth. "It is a sobering thought is it not?"

Unable to reply to such a statement, Thorin simply sat in silence, watching as the night passed them by. The Arkenstone beat a heavy rhythm against his chest, almost as if it knew that it had been the subject of their conversation, reminding him of how much he had done, how much he had given up for it in the past.

The memory of Rín standing above him, the stone clutched in a dirty hand and mouth formed in a perfect 'O' of surprise, tugged at the corners of his mind. Annoyed, he shoved it back into its place in the back of his mind, turning towards more recent events. Perhaps he would have shown the Arkenstone to her in more recent days if she had asked, but the dwarf-woman had not spoken a word to him since the night she had been caught eavesdropping. Well, no words other than 'pass your bowl' or, 'move over'. Not an entirely good example of meaningful conversation that would inspire him to share the one thing he cared for most in Arda.

"The night will not last much longer, Thorin son of Thráin, perhaps now is a time for rest and sleep. We should speak more of this tomorrow." the quiet, lilting voice of Pallando broke through his thoughts and jerked Thorin back to the present. With a nod of consent, he settled into a sleep that was not entirely restful.

* * *

There was something about fast-running water that Rín didn't like. Perhaps it was the fact that the roar that accompanied it made it sound angry and as tiny waves battered against the bank, one could almost imagine the voice of the river whispering angry words against the shore. Ever since she had been a youngling, part of her had been terrified of such water as this - a nightmare plaguing her dreams of a massive wave washing over her and sweeping her into it's freezing depths. Something would pin her down and hold her there, forcing her to the bottom as she struggled to free herself and reach air.

With age, the dream had passed into a thing of childhood nightmares, for there were too many real-life nightmares that had forces such things from her consciousness. But seeing the water before her brought it back.

"You look nervous." The smooth voice of Thorin broke through her thoughts and Rín pursed her lips, wondering whether she could ignore him in a way that was not entirely obvious. "You have crossed rivers before, this one will be no different."

Rín laughed, a short, barking sound that was devoid of humor. "That does not mean I have to like it." she got the feeling that Thorin was looking at her strangely then, and shifted on her feet uncomfortably. Desperately, she looked anywhere at him, holding onto the hurt that was still coiled in a ball in the pit of her stomach.

The other Easterlings had accepted them more easily than she thought they would have, but that might have been simply because their number was so few, in comparison to so many men. The further they walked, the more sweaty her palms became. Fervently, Rín wished for a bridge to appear above the waters, and even further along, it did. Although, the look of it did not instill much confidence in her, for all it was crafted from stone and was wide enough to carry five abreast, there were no rails and the rocks were covered in a mixture of water and moss that could be potentially lethal.

Slowly, the march of men came to a halt as the leaders discussed how to proceed. As the other three dwarrow gathered around them, Rín rubbed a tired hand across her eyes which were no doubt swollen from exhaustion. She was beginning to find, that when they stopped of a night time, she was far too tired to sleep, and a plague of wakefulness kept her from passing from a light doze into a deep sleep.

The tribes segregated into clans after the Vaidas talked to each of the lesser chieftains. Rín watched as Meska then drew his people and the five dwarrow to him. "I have negotiated we go first, as we were the first to arrive here, Hazhir and his clan will follow and the others will come behind." he said in the common tongue, so that the dwarves could also understand his words. "The Myrrlion people will no doubt await us on the far side of the second tooth."

"Is there another bridge that we must cross?" Rorik spoke up, voicing the question that was no doubt on all of their minds. "How long will it take us to reach the second part of the river?"

Meska shook his head, "No more than a few hours. Now, we should move before we annoy the others that must also cross."

And with that, the Rhûnions stepped up onto the bridge, and the dwarrow followed. Rín shot Nannulf a glare when the youngling wanted to have a look over the edge, and shoved him into the middle. "I am not having you fall in. I do not wish to fish you out." she grumbled irritably. There was no way she had any desire to jump in after him.

A presence to her right gently nudged her further into the middle as well, "I am not having you fall in. I do not wish to fish you out." Thorin said, his eyes dark and serious. Rín huffed in annoyance but did not reply, not entirely happy with such teasing, for that was what it was.

What felt like hours was most probably only minutes, but Rín breathed a sigh of relief when the sound of the water was behind her. As she continued to walk, she spared a look behind her at the steady stream of men funneling across the bridge after them. They looked like the ants she had sometimes found, stealing the tiny breadcrumbs from the floor of the pit and following each, one after the other.

An hour later, and what had been a glimmer ahead of them was slowly taking the shape of another river. Hearing something like whispers on a breeze, Rín looked over her shoulder once more. Meska must have caught her look of confusion at the sound for he smiled, "Instead of sending a runner, we pass messages along the line when we travel like this, it is just as fast and requires far less effort." he said, "What you are hearing is many voices telling the next, what the person before, said to them. The message will reach us in a matter of moments."

Whatever it was, she decided, it did not bode well. Rín decided as finally, one man behind her spoke to the Vaidas of the Rhûnions. "We have lost two to the river and the Khands have lost one." Was all Meska said, but the faces of the other men said it all, and all of a sudden, the mood became sombre.

They trudged for the next half an hour in silence before they came to the second and last bridge. Rín eyed this one even more warily than the first, and she swallowed nervously at the sight as she stepped onto the stones, for the water seemed to flow even faster than that of the other.

The five stood in the same pattern as before, Thorin to her right, Nannulf to her left, and Geir and Rorik beyond him. Rín just happened to look up at the men ahead of her, when she felt her foot slip beneath her. Before her face could hit rock, a hand grabbed her arm roughly and wrenched her to her feet, nearly jerking her limb from its socket.

"Do not loose your footing again." Thorin said darkly, his brows constricted into a frown.

Mortified, angry and scared all at once, she wrenched her arm from his grip and staggered forward a little at the force behind the move, "I will not." Rín snarled in reply, just as the corner of her boot hit one of the wetter rocks at the wrong angle and she stumbled once more.

But this time, he was not fast enough, and this time, she fell.

* * *

It was beginning to grow dark by the time a figure, cloaked in the shadow of the sinking sun, hauled themselves from the foaming waters, sans outer-tunic and belt, and dragging another, limp figure through the water with them.

He had dived in after her, and part of him realised that he had never been so afraid for the life of another as this moment, surging as fast as he could towards the river bank. He had found her under the water seconds after she had disappeared beneath the surface, but perhaps it was the fact that Rín had not had a chance to hold her breath like he had, that meant he felt her stop struggling against him minutes after the current pushed them down and along the riverbed.

And now, he couldn't feel her breathing.

With a grunt of effort, he hauled Rín from the water and laid her there on the mud. Her red hair dark from the water and her skin starkly white against the shadow of the ground and the blue of her lips. It was then, that he was struck with such sudden terror that in any other instance it would have shamed him. But now was not the time. Moving quickly, her turned her face and lips skyward, towards him.

So it was, that for the fourth time in his life, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór prayed to Mahal the Maker in a desperate plea for help; even as he leant over, pressed his lips to hers, and breathed.

* * *

**A/N: ...**

**Special thanks as always to my lovely reviewers _Kay1104, Artemis Faery, The Penned Tekrid, ladymoonscar, Fellowship of Avengers, whatcatydidnext, ArkenstoneBeauty, Suheyla, TolkienGirl052, KingofTruands, DeadheadDaisy, LadyDunla, xBelekinax, UKReader, and harrylee94_. Also to those who joined the following and/or favourited :)**

**Definitions:**

**_Tungl:_ Moon (Icelandic)**


	29. Silt

Geir stared at the foaming waters of the river Tungl, his face grim and lips pressed into a thin line. He cursed himself for not paying better attention, perhaps if he had been, this would not have happened. Instead, he was left on the river bank, one arm around Nannulf, and the other clutching the garments Thorin had left behind.

Everything had happened so quickly, Geir hadn't even known anything was wrong; too concerned about watching himself put one foot in front of the other, until a startled wail went up from Nannulf beside him and he turned to see a flash of red hair disappearing beneath the bridge. Thorin had cursed and divested himself of tunic and belt before he could blink and followed a second later.

It had almost been like something from a dream, and now they stood there beside the water, closer to their destination and yet, minus two members of their company. Very important members of their company.

With a sigh, Geir absentmindedly patted the head of the younger dwarf beside him. "They will be alright. Pallando even said as much." he said gruffly, a poor attempt at consolation.

"I know." came Nannulf's calm reply, and Geir looked at his young companion sharply. There was something odd, or in the least, very different about him. Had been for days. He seemed less...innocent in some way.

Geir grunted in reply, "Well then we best be back to the others." One hand on Nannulf's arm, the other on Thorin's clothes, they strode back to the camp of Rhûnions who waited on the Eastern side of the river for the rest of their people. Geir however, was troubled, for he alone knew of what he carried.

Upon retrieving Thorins tunic and belt from the bridge, he alone, felt the stone that lay buried in cloth. He alone had lifted back the cloth to see what lay beneath, and he alone had seen the gem that lay beneath, pulsing with the brightness of a hundred-thousand lives.

* * *

Rín's eyes flew open and for a second, all she could see was darkness and a face far above her, before water bubbled up her chest and she rolled to the side, retching as the river Tungl was expelled from her lungs.

A hand crept through the wet tangles of her hair and pushed them from her face. Gasping for air as she finished, Rín pressed a shaky hand to her mouth and wiped away spittle and water alike. The hand on her head continued to push stray hairs from her face and she turned to see her saviour.

"You are alive." Thorin breathed, his face visibly relieved, even in the darkness. Suddenly overcome, Rín leaned over and buried her face in his chest, more than thankful as his arms wrapped around her tightly in reply. She didn't know how long they sat like that, and quite frankly, she didn't care. "Shhhh, I have you, you are safe now." he murmured, lifting her chin to look at him, even as his thumb traced away the tracks of salty wetness from her cheeks. "For a moment there, I thought I had lost you."

"And I thought you said you did not want to fish me out." Rín joked weakly, trying to hold herself together but entirely aware of how warm he felt wrapped around her, compared to the coldness of the night air.

One black brow raised and Thorin's lips twisted wryly downwards, "Obviously, that did not mean I _would not _fish you out."

Rín blushed and looked down, hastily scrubbing away the water that had collected on her lashes with the back of her hand. "Well then...I believe I owe you now." she said quietly, meeting his eyes once more, "I owe you firstly, my thanks for pulling me out. I also owe you, part in parcel with this thanks, my life and finally, I owe you an apology. I should not have listened the other night. It was not my place and I have no say in whatever you should choose to do. I am sorry."

It was something that cost her a lot to admit, and Rín bit the side of her tongue as she did so, glancing down once more, unable to look him in the eye. She had thought he would let her go, gruffly accept her apology and thanks, and inform her they would begin heading back to the others as soon as the sun rose. But that was not how things were to be.

Rín's eyes flew upwards when she felt the tips of his fingers push one of her dreadlocks back behind her ear. "The thanks and apology should be mine Rín." he replied quietly, and she felt her cheeks burn, right up to the tips of her ears, but she could not look away. "You have done more for me; a stranger to you who was nothing other than rude suspicious, than one would have thought possible. It is I who must apologise. I swore I would protect you and see you to the West of the Misty Mountains, and that is what I shall do."

Rín swallowed, feeling herself shiver, not only at the coldness of her wet clothes, but at the warmth that radiated from the Once-King and the burning touch of his fingers on her skin. Steeling her nerves, she shuffled a little closer to the dark-haired dwarf, and he let her, pulling her tighter to him.

"Thank you." she murmured against his chest as her eyes closed and she relaxed into his embrace. "I did not know how to swim. How did you?"

Rín smiled as she felt, rather than heard Thorin's response rumble up from his chest. "In my age of Erebor, all dwarf children who were able, went to the lake that separated Erebor from Dale." he said, "My father taught me, and upon the death of their father, I taught my nephews-"

Feeling the sudden stop in words, Rín sat up and watched as Thorin searched through the pockets of his now, very bedraggled tunic. "The Arkenstone" he said, almost on the verge of desperation. "It is gone."

Rín blinked at him in disbelief. "Gone?" she asked in horror, and frantically began looking around the silt of the riverbank next to them, only to seat herself once more, moments later when the search proved fruitless.

She had never seen a more defeated expression on the face of Thorin Oakenshield. "The water must have taken it as I swam for you." he said, as he too, returned and sat beside her. Together, they leaned against one of the nearby rocks of the riverbed with the heavy thud of resignation.

"I am so sorry." Rín whispered. If he had forgiven her, and shown any kind of affection towards her before. It would no doubt be a figment of her imagination now.

"It is no matter." Thorin said quietly, so quietly she almost thought it was only said inside her head. That was, until one large weathered hand gently wrapped itself around her own. "Your life is worth ten thousands of that of a simple stone."

Rín felt her heart beat speed up until it was pounding so fast, she thought it would burst. Her cheeks were flaming and in her mortification, was thankful for the dark of the night that shadowed her. Not entirely sure what to say, Rín smiled and jokingly pressed the back of her hand against Thorin's forehead.

"Are you ill Thorin?" she asked teasingly, her eyes bright, "Or did some of that river water get into your head when you jumped in?"

A wry smile in reply. Perhaps she was not as obvious about the fact she had been only two seconds away from kissing him, as she thought she had. "No. I am not ill. Not now in any matter...perhaps I was before however. You have simply reminded me how to be well again." catching her confused expression, Thorin continued, running his thumb absentmindedly over her knuckles (probably with no idea how distracting that actually was). "Have I ever told you of the company that was with me in the lead up to reclaiming Erebor? No? Well perhaps I should. There were eleven dwarves; the brothers Balin and Dwalin, my closest friends; the three brothers Nori, Ori and Dori; the brothers Bofur and Bombur and their cousin Bifur; as well as my two nephews, Fili and Kili, both of whom had only seen no more than seventy years. With us came the wizard, Gandalf, and last but not least, the Hobbit, Bilbo."

"Hobbit?" Rín asked curiously, her nose wrinkling in confusion, "What is a Hobbit?"

Thorin glanced incredulously across at her at the comment, "You do not know what a Hobbit is? One of the Shirefolk? The Halflings?"

Rín frowned and shook her head, "No, but I had heard tales of them." she replied, happy that the conversation helped keep her mind from fogging at how close he actually was, "I had thought them only legend."

"No. Not only legend." Thorin murmured, a frown tracing across his face in the darkness. "In fact, the Hobbit Bilbo was the first to remind me, of what I should, and who I could, be."

Rín nodded, and did not complain when he continued, shifting beside her to a more comfortable position against the stone and essentially pulling her closer to him. She closed her eyes, telling herself it was a move only to keep the cold night air at bay. "I doubted him from the beginning of our journey, for Hobbits loved good food and comfort above all else - they are not made for the hard toils of our life - and yet, at every turn, he proved himself to be greater in spirit than any of us." he said, and Rín took the plunge, gently resting her head against his shoulder (which was actually quite comfortable) and settled in for the lengthy story that this would no doubt be. And she was glad of it, for finally it seemed, he was opening up to her like he never had before. And one by one, it seemed that the parts of her heart of stone that had dulled, began to shine once more.

"It is a burning, and all-consuming thing, hatred. It is something I wish you never have cause to feel. I, in all my infinite wisdom, let my hatred of the Elves and their refusal to help us defend ourselves against the dragon Smaug rule my better senses." he said it with such bitterness that Rín opened her eyes and squeezed his hand lightly in encouragement. "It was my inability to control hatred, and my focus on holding onto it in the first place, that lead to our people nearly being defeated in the Battle of the Five armies, and also lead to my own death, as well as that of my two nephews, whom it was my duty to protect. Not the other way around."

Thorin's face was becoming darker and darker as he spoke, so much so, that he looked almost like he had when she had first seen him, there in the tomb beneath Erebor. On a whim, Rín reached up and pressed a gentle kiss (it was more of a peck really) to his cheek-bone, near where the top of his beard, met skin; seemingly startling him from his dark thoughts. It was something she used to do with Nannulf, when he was hardly more than a child, and had night fears, or had attracted the attention of one of the nastier guards during the day. With Nannulf, it was usually followed with a cuddle and a whispering that everything would be alright, but she thought perhaps that those were not the words needed here. "It is done now." Rín said calmly, more calmly than she felt in any matter. "You were telling me of the Hobbit Bilbo, remember?"

Thorin stared at her for a moment, as if he did not fully understand what it was she was saying. "Yes, I do believe I was." he cleared his throat before continuing, and Rín rested her head back on his shoulder, feigning ignorance, although part of her could not entirely believe what she had just done. "In the end. It was he, who brought things to a head between the elves and my people, when I became overwhelmed by a gold-lust that even the strongest could have succumbed to. Such was the hoard of Erebor.

As I lay dying after the battle, I realised just the extent of the folly that had been mine. I had sold my soul, as it was, for the love of a single gem, and the gold of my forefathers. The last words I spoke to Bilbo I still remember clear as if it were yesterday, 'If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, this would be a better world', for that I believe wholeheartedly to be true. But I learned that too late, and now, what I have learned is no use to me, as I have no power to shape that which I do not know."

They were both silent for a moment and Rín felt the weight of his words like a shroud around her, "What is it like?" she asked suddenly, with a yawn. It seemed perhaps, that the events of the day had finally caught up with her.

"What is what like?" he replied with a touch of humor.

"The other side." Rín answered with a wistfulness she had not even known she possessed.

Thorin was quiet then, but Rín knew he would respond. They had long since passed the boundaries of silence. "From what I remember, and even now, my memories grow hazier;" he said slowly, "All I knew was darkness. For me, it was only the black of sleep. I was in a healing tent, breathing my last one moment, and the next, awakened to find myself being robbed of my Arkenstone by an odd, red-haired dwarf-"

"If I were not so tired, Master Oakenshield," Rín yawned, mumbling against his shoulder, "You would receive a smack for such discourtesy. King or no king."

To her surprise, and tired delight, she felt Thorin rumble in laughter at her not entirely well-thought-out, comment. "Perhaps, Hlífhrím, it is time for you to sleep," he murmured against her hair, "You are entirely too silly when you are tired."

* * *

One un-lady-like, unamused grunt later, and Rín was fast asleep. Thorin watched her for a few moments, holding back a smile at the way the middle of her forehead creased in sleep, and her eyelashes became framed against the pale white of her cheeks. A stray tendril of hair had escaped her mane and curled around the corner of her face. With a silent laugh, he carefully returned it to the mass of hair at the nape of her neck. She always seemed to have hair going everywhere, Thorin mused, the corner of his eyes crinkling. No braids to be seen - no dwarf-woman from his age would be caught dead with hair like she had...although...it was a lovely colour.

Thorin shook his head, not entirely sure just how she had managed to worm her way into his head, and with a heavy sigh as he rested his head on hers and drifted off to sleep, he admitted the more important fact, his heart.

* * *

**A/N: Phew. Talk about a hair raising chapter to write. Hopefully all that dialogue was chewable and it was alright. :) **

**Now, what did you all think? **

**MASSIVE thanks to the fabulously brilliant****_ Artemis Faery, The Penned Tekrid, Fellowship of Avengers, Kay1104, ArkenstoneBeauty, LadyDunla, xBelekinax, IceheartsChill, UKReader, TolkienGirl052, Suheyla, DeadheadDaisy, whatcatydidnext, EscapingTheirReality, harrylee94, Gaia-drea_**** and my two guest reviewers ****_DD_**** and ****_Marie._**** To those of you who have simply followed and/or favourited, your support is not forgotten, and is appreciated - I just hope you are enjoying this story too! :)**


	30. Onwards

Everyone had been acting far too strangely of late, Rorik decided as they set out once more the next morning. And no, it had not just begun when Rín fell off the bridge, and Thorin jumped in after her, like some kind of hero. He had never much liked the hero in stories and legends; they were by far overrated in his opinion.

Although, had he been on the side Thorin had been when she had fallen in, Rorik would have jumped in after her as well. She was a vital member of the company; his backup if anything went wrong. It was always useful to have a plan B, and she was it. He rather liked Rín actually, on a whole. She was all biting wit and good company, once you got over the fact that she was incredibly ugly of course (how Ironfists could like their women without any facial hair was beyond him). So he too, was upset when she fell in, but almost all the oddness in people had started before that particular occurrence.

Nannulf had been moping around like a bad smell for days, not smiling at all (which was disturbing - coming from the youngling who seemed to be all teeth most of the time). Thorin and Rín had had some kind of fight (before she had fallen in the water obviously) because they had begun giving one another death stares (again). Rorik decided that Geir should have been nicknamed 'stone face', because that seemed to have become his permanent expression.

All in all, he was beginning to find the constant moodiness exhausting. If perhaps, everyone could simply pick a mood and stick with it, instead of constantly changing it every leg of this not particularly welcome journey, he would feel slightly better. He could only dare to hope that when they got back, the tension between Thorin and Rín would have disappeared. It was beginning to give him a headache.

It had turned out, that when the pair had disappeared into the water, the Blue Wizard had shown his usefulness for the first time. It seemed, that although he had an almost unhealthy fascination with crystals (even by dwarvish standards), the crystals themselves, with some persuasion, would show him what he asked to see.

The magic of the last wizard was revealed for the first time when Pallando whispered in a language the dwarves did not know; to the snake that rested at the head of his staff. Every hair on Rorik's body had stood on end when the gems that were the eyes of the snake suddenly flashed, and moved. It was if the staff had suddenly come alive, and it's surface shifted, as stone, that was not stone - moved to reveal the rounded surface of the very top of the staff.

Each of the remaining dwarves had watched in baited silence as the clear calcite began to glow, colours suddenly appearing from nowhere and beginning to swirl within it's depths. Slowly, the colours became blurs of shadow, and blurs of shadow, figures, and finally, the figures became Rín, coughing up water, and Thorin, kneeling over her.

The images only lasted for a second, but it was enough. He had hastily questioned whether it was just a wish, or reality that they were seeing. The Blue Wizard, much to his surprise, replied with 'reality'. As such, the night had quickly passed them by, and before the sun had even risen in the new day, Pallando had left them to retrieve the missing members of their company. And still, they continued to walk.

Rorik yawned as he cast an eye about the mass of bodies that walked about him, and suddenly honed in on Nannulf. The youngling looked stiff as a board. Usually, one would liken him to a piece of jelly the dwarf-women would have made once upon a time; all arms, legs and awkwardness. But now, he moved with all the tenseness of someone whose head was screaming run, yet legs were filled with lead.

"What are you so afraid of?" Rorik asked sharply, not too loudly, but loud enough it should have gotten a jump of fright at least from the boy...but it didn't. He just stared.

"Nothing." Nannulf deadpanned.

Rorik's brow raised so high he thought it might disappear into his hairline. "Really, well, I hate to inform you, but everyone can see it. Meska even commented on it to me yesterday - you were so tense." That of course, was a complete lie, but the boy didn't have to know that.

"I did not see you talk to him yesterday."

Sneaky little bugger, he sneeringly thought to himself, "You may not have realised this, but not everything I do, you know about."

Nannulf blinked and looked down then, the very tips of his ears tinging pink. There was the youngling he knew. "I-I don't know Rorik," the boy whispered suddenly, catching Rorik by surprise, even as he looked about him furtively, "I just have this bad feeling that something is wrong."

Up again went the eyebrow. "Wrong you say?"

Nannulf nodded vigorously in reply. "Very wrong, and what if there are Orcs where we are going?"

"There will be no Orcs." Rorik replied firmly, "And if there are, we will simply keep out of their way."

Nannulf sighed, "I don't like this." he said quietly, "Was this all part of your escape plan? Where is Ása, Ivarr and the others? Why have we not seen them? What if-"

"Stop this now Nannulf!" Rorik snapped testily, suddenly tired with the conversation, "You are of the Khuzud, stop acting like a child and more like the dwarf you should be. When I was your age I had not been acting like a youngling for three years - grow up. We do not need babies on this journey."

With that, Rorik shifted the pack on his shoulder and lengthened his stride, marching further head and leaving the boy behind. Rorik did not look back, and instead kept his eyes fixed on the men in front of him. When a cry went up signaling the return of the missing dwarves and wizard, still he did not turn. He did not feel guilty. Of course he did not feel guilty. He never felt guilty about anything. No, he did not feel guilty at all.

* * *

"My lord Sachem, the information you requested."

Skøldjor looked up from the maps he was currently studying, and nodded to the Minhion that stood at the door. "Enter." he answered brusquely, before looking down once more.

The Minhion quickly placed the vellum covered in the work of scribes upon the table before turning and practically fleeing from the room. If he said he didn't quite like the fear that he initiated in his subjects, he would be lying. It often gave him a dark sense of satisfaction deep in his soul. With a yawn that was not entirely tired, Skøldjor put down his quill and stretched his arms up above his head.

Better for them to fear him and obey, than to not fear him and ignore his commands. Soon the tribes would arrive in Roskilde, by the thousands. Rhúnions, Khands, Haradrim and , the games for the leadership of all the peoples would finally begin, and so help him, there was no way he was willing to lose.

* * *

"My friends, it is good to see you here alive and well!" Meska announced happily, as Thorin and Rín joined the Rhúnion encampment.

"It is good to find ourselves here." Rín replied warmly, she had found herself growing quite attached the the Vaidas. "Although, I fear I would have been sleeping amongst the silt if Thorin had not pulled me out."

Rín glanced across at her companion and smiled shyly. Meska watched with a touch of humor. What he had seen the start of weeks ago, seemed to have grown proportionately in the space of one afternoon.

Rín practically jumped on Nannulf and Geir, pulling them closely to her in a hug. When they broke apart, he decided to speak, "Within two days we will reach Roskilde." Meska said to all of them quietly, his deep voice ominous, "Take this time to prepare yourselves, for it will not be easy."

* * *

**A/N: Only a short one today my lovelies, but unfortunately work, study and a production of the Full Monty (which starts in an hour) have limited todays chappie. **

**How did you all feel about it being almost entirely Thorin-and-Rín-free? It was almost odd for me...**

**Hope you all enjoyed! :)**

**Many thanks to****_ Fellowship of Avengers, Samolfran, The Penned Tekrid, Chilled Souls of the Forgotten, DeadheadDaisy, ladymoonscar, harrylee94, Gaia-drea, ArkenstoneBeauty, ThaliaHuntressGrace, UKReader, TolkienGirl052, L. C. Doyle, xBelekinax,_**** and ****_LadyDunla_****. Also to those of you that followed and/or favourited - thank you. x**


	31. Roskilde

The sharp metal of a blade cut through the air before embedding itself in the wood of the training post. The muscles in Skoldjør's arms were beginning to burn, it had been so long since he had properly lifted a sword.

"Still can't swing properly I see."

The familiar voice broke through Skoldjør's concentration and he wrenched the sword from the wood, wiping the sweat from his brow before turning, an arrogant smirk on his face. "Still enjoy sneaking up on people I see."

The blonde man that stood before him grinned and winked, "Enjoy it? I love it." he replied, before stepping forward and offering his arm, "So good to see you again once more Skoldjør!"

"And you Cynered." The Sachem answered, clasping the other man's arm before pulling him into a bear hug. "It has been too long."

"That it has my friend," Cynered replied easily, before stepping away, running a hand through his dirty-blonde hair. "A little birdy told me that you are the new Sachem with the death of your father...although, it may have been a large birdy, what with everyone running around preparing for the Mœta."

Skoldjør rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword. Cynered had been the same since childhood - the fun loving, entirely oblivious friend. People used to say they looked so alike they could almost be brothers, or cousins in the very least, and that is what Cynered was, in essence.

"Yes, well, most probably not for much longer." Skoldjør grumbled, and began walking, "Not if Hazhir has anything to do with it."

Cynered quickly fell in step and followed him as he began the walk back to his quarters, "Well be glad Hazhir is your only real problem. I don't believe the other Vaidas will put up much of a fight for leadership."

Skoldjør blinked and looked across at his old friend. "Since when did you become so insightful." he said, "The Cynered I knew was about as thoughtful as a mud-brick."

The other blonde man grinned almost wolfishly, "Well I've actually had to do a bit of thinking for myself after you left, 10 years can do that to a person you know." They were quiet for a moment as they continued walking, "Have you been to visit your sister?"

"No." Skoldjør answered quietly, his left hand tightening around his sword-pommel unconciously. "Not yet."

"Sjöfn heard you had return and she is more than anxious to see you again." Cynered said casually, and Skoldjør's head whipped in his direction.

"You know this how?"

Cynered shrugged, "I visit her occasionally. I believe when you left, you told me to look after her so I have, although, there is something you should know..."

Skoldjør's eyes narrowed suddenly, the lines on his friend's face had become more prominent, stretched across bone."I could not from everything Skoldjør," Cynered said lowly, his voice pained "She's sick, very sick. I think you should go to her as soon as possible."

* * *

Rín yawned as she sucked the first breath of waking air in to her lungs, and slowly opened her eyes. They were to walk the last three miles into Roskilde, and already her blood was thrumming in anticipation. Meska had handed them cloaks the night before, to help disguise them, even if it was only in a small way.

The sun had barely risen in the sky when she found herself staring down at the stirring city of Roskilde, home of the Vajördons. It was like nothing she had ever seen. Just as the Rhûnions had surprised her with their own unusual homes, so too did the Vajördons. Thatched roofs stretched for miles in a circle.

"Men and their desire to live in full view of the rest of the world." Thorin sighed from beside her, a hint of humor in his voice, "I will never understand it."

Rín laughed and shifted her pack slightly as the company set off down the hill, a horde of people following. It seemed that the horde of Easterlings had long ago been noticed and men and women came flooding out from the city chattering and yelling in their common and sometimes different tongues.

The Vaidas and other lesser chiefs of the Rhûnions however, did not stop and begin setting up tent, but continued on down into Roskilde, Meska giving them the nod to follow. Hazhir and his men, she noticed, did the same. Rorik rolled his eyes at them and made some comment about 'giving me a toothache' as he passed and Rín stuck her tongue out at him behind his back. She did not know why, but for some reason she was in a very good mood that morning. Perhaps it was because they could almost begin the second leg of their journey.

It was a beautiful place, Roskilde, Rín decided as she walked through the city, her eyes wide, absorbing every little detail. Little potted flowers adorned windows and the painted wood of mannish houses stood out against the dull brown of cobbled streets.

Meska and the rest of the chiefs seemed to know where they were going and the company of dwarves followed, heading into the heart of the city. When they arrived at the very centre, they were all awed (to different degrees) by what they saw.

In the very middle was an impressive longhouse with a thatched roof that descended from it's peak directly into the ground. Around it, was a scattering of smaller longhouses, six in total. Meska suddenly turned and addressed the dwarrow, bringing them to a halt "This is where we shall stay for the duration of the Mœta."

"Rín - I must speak with you." Geir hissed beside her, jerking her attention from the Rhûnion.

"Hmmmm? What did you say?" she asked vaguely, looking to the grizzled dwarf.

"Hlífhrím!" Geir said with more force, pulling her into one of the smaller longhouses Meska had indicated was that of the Rhûnions, "I must talk with you. Now."

"What is it- OH. Where did you get that?" Rín breathed, staring at the gem he had pulled from the folds of his tunic.

"In the tunic of Thorin - if that is really his name." Geir said, pulling away and beginning to pace the floor before she could reach up and grab it from him, "You know what this is do you not?"

"Of course I know what it is but why did you not speak of it sooner?" Rín said desperately, her eyes flicking behind her to the slightly ajar door.

"I could not - he was too close. Always too close." Geir murmured, almost to himself, "'Thorin' is not who he seems I've had my suspicions, but this is the final shred of evidence. "His clothes are all wrong, his accent is one I have not heard and even his name - Rín, Rorik had never heard of him that day you brought him to us; and that name has not been taken by any, as a sign of respect to the king of old, as you well know. He is a thief, and most likely a spy."

Rín shook her head furiously, horrified at what she was hearing, this was not how things were supposed to go. "No! Geir you don't understand!"

"Rín have you not listened to what I have just told you? The evidence is cannot be contradicted and yet you still defend him..unless..." Geir suddenly stopped his pacing, and turned, staring at her with his one good eye, "You too are a spy? Or just a thief?"

"No!" Rín denied, beginning to back away, even as he stepped towards her, "Geir I-"

"That is it, is it not?" he seethed, his face becoming increasingly angry, "Like father like daughter."

"No-" she began but was cut off, when one worn and weathered hand wrapped itself around her throat, pushing her against the wall of the longhouse and almost lifting her off the ground. For someone so old, Geir was still very strong.

"We trusted you! Cease the workings of your tongue!" Geir spat angrily even as Rín scrabbled for a hand or foot-hold, "I do not want to hear another word-"

"Geir! Put her down. Now!" The voice of Pallando broke through the room and cut him off. Rín turned to look at the sound and noticed that Rorik was with him but Nannulf was not, probably off with the rest of the Easterlings. The look of murderous fury on Thorin's face however, was unmissable, "She does not deserve such treatment, especially from you."

It seemed that Geir too, had been distracted by the sound. The wizard had given her just enough time to react and Rín did so with lightening accuracy, viciously kicking the old dwarfs still-healing leg wound. He went down like a sack of potatoes and she stumbled towards Thorin as fast as her shaky legs could carry her. "I am not the one in the wrong here. _He_ is." Geir wheezed, hauling himself to his feet, "_They_ are."

"Thorin-" Rín began, when the tall, dark-haired dwarf started forward.

"But that is not your real name is it?" Geir growled. Baiting the bear.

"Geir-"

"When I was younger I was never much one for the weapons courts, but I was one for the tailor shops." Geir said angrily, circling the room but always keeping his one eye directly on the new-comers. Pallando it seemed, was content to let things run their course and stayed silent. "I know dwarvish cloth-work when I see it, and this is not like anything our people have made for the last half an age."

"What are you saying Geir?" Rorik spoke up supiciously.

"I am saying, that Thorin is not who he seems." Geir snarled, counting off the things on his fingers "His clothes are from the late third age at the most, and did you not say that you had never seen his face? Did not know him from either of the warrens beneath Erebor?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."

"There was a traitor, was there not, who revealed the escape plans to the Easterlings?" Geir said, never taking his eye off Thorin.

"Yes..."

Geir looked to his blonde companion then, "And were not you three, Rorik, taken away for riotous behaviour after the ceiling collapsed?"

"Yes and Thorin..." Rorik began before trailing off.

"Thorin what?"

"Thorin was taken away separately by the Easterlings." Rorik said, realisation suddenly dawning in his eyes, "Rín and I were placed in the cells."

Geir laughed, a sound devoid of humor, "So now your eyes are opened!" He said, beginning to stalk the floor of the longhouse in obvious anger. "And not only that, but see what I found in the pocket of the tunic of the great Thorin."

Rorik blinked, "No..."

"It can't be..." Nannulf breathed, his youthful eyes wide and bright.

"It is. The Arkenstone, Heart of the Mountain." Geir said coldly, displaying the gem clearly to all those in the room, his words brandished like a sword. "Laid to rest with our King who reclaimed it from the last of the dragons. All that is missing from this set is the blade. Pray 'Thorin', where is the sword Orcrist?"

"To my knowledge it is still within the depths of Erebor." Thorin replied calmly, "We did not take it from the tomb when we left. Rín thought I would attract attention enough as it was."

Geir sneered in fury, "Attract attention indeed, and of course you could not simply leave the Arkenstone there, for it was too great a prize."

"That is indeed truth, but not in the way you believe it to be so."

"Enlighten me, Thorin, son of Thráin." Geir said coldly. His expression hard and unforgiving.

"You believe your evidence shows only one possible truth, and yet it shows another, just as clearly." Thorin said calmly, and Rín looked across at him in worry, suddenly aware of what he planned to say. "If you were to return to Erebor, and attempted to find the tomb of the King Thorin, you would find the place where these objects lay, empty."

"Because you cleaned it out!"

"In a sense. Yes. But again, not in the manner in which you think. I only took that which was rightfully mine; because, you see Geir, you will see no body in Thorin Oakenshield's tomb, for he is here. Standing before you." Thorin said quietly, but his voice growing louder with every word, "I am Thorin Oakenshield. Son of Thráin, son of Thrór of the line of Durin. Brother of Frerin and Dís. Uncle of Fílí and Kílí. King Under the Mountain."

Geir stared at Thorin with his one good eye in shock, "You are daft in the head lad. You listened to this loony Hlífhrím?"

"She did not listen to me." Thorin replied hotly, "In fact, it was quite the other way around - when I awoke, I found myself listening to her."

"You bloody-well think you're seriously the Thorin Oakenshield that slew the dragon don't you?"

"No. I did not slay Smaug. Bard the Bowman, of Dale, slew the dragon." Thorin replied cooly

"What a load of rot. You could at least get your history straight." Rorik scoffed, breaking into the conversation, "It was our King that did the mighty deed, not a man."

"Your King did not do the deed." Thorin snapped angrily, stepping forward, "He was filled with gold-lust and did nothing more than sit on my trove and cast out my friends."

Geir snarled, and stepped closer too, "How dare you-"

"That is quite enough! From both of you!" Pallando said suddenly, breaking through the argument in one fell swoop, "Now my friends, I have long waited for this day when I show you the truth of the matter. Now, none of you move."

With that, the Blue Wizard closed his eyes and outstretched his hand. All of a sudden, the ground beneath their feet began to rumble, the hard-packed earth shaking and stirring lose dust. Like a cloud, the dust rose into the air, and all of the dwarves stared, transfixed, at the scene that played out before them.

It showed the rockslide, Rín finding the door to the tomb and everything that transpired afterwards. When the images of the dwarves reached the top of the mine shaft, the story stopped and the dust fell back to the floor, as if nothing had happened.

"How did you do that?!" Nannulf asked in breathless awe.

"Stones and crystals are old, far older than you and I my boy." Pallando replied as he leaned heavily on his staff, his voice tired, "Quartz in particular is a bit of a gossip - likes to get the information it can from it's neighbors far and wide. It retains memories of that which has passed before, you just have to know what to look for. The ground here is filled with it."

"But then you can show me how and why I am here!" Thorin said almost desperately and Rín looked across at him in worry.

"No." Pallando shook his head regretfully, "The stones only show what has been. Not necessarily why it happened. Only the Valar know why you were returned."

"So let me set this straight." Rorik spoke up suddenly, his voice droll, "You were dead. You came back to life, and you are-were, the King of Erebor."

"Yes." Thorin replied, his eyes ice hard.

Rorik stared at him for a moment, before letting loose a bark of laughter, "Well that's just dandy."

Rín blinked in surprise, but Thorin seemed unperturbed, "You seem to be taking it well."

"Well what can I say, I'm not much of a hot head." Rorik sneered and headed for the door. "Besides, it doesn't change the fact that I still don't like you."

* * *

**A/N: If some of you have read parts of the Appendices, you should have seen a bit of that coming )**

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	32. The Mœta Begins

"So you were dead...and now you're alive?"

"Yes Nannulf." Thorin sighed, and Rín bit the inside of her cheek at the fatigue in his voice. He had been trying to explain it to him for the last ten minutes after all.

Nannulf frowned thoughtfully, "So you're here for a reason, we just don't know what type of reason..."

At first, Thorin had been unwilling to discuss his existence further, even going so far as to seem a little regretful that he had 'spilled' such a secret in the first place. After the altercation that had left Rín with the faintest of red marks about her neck, Geir had followed Pallando from the longhouse, his face stretched so tauntly that the white scar which ran from corner to corner of his eye, seemed to stand out against the red of his face.

Nannulf, who had somehow slipped into the room halfway through the argument and who had caught the last part, remained behind. There had been a moment of awkwardness as the youngling just stood where he was and stared at the tall dark-haired dwarf. But Thorin, to her surprise had ignored the stares he had been receiving from the boy and came straight to her, asking if she were alright. The look of concern on his face made her blush.

Thankfully, Nannulf had decided to make himself comfortable in their 'new abode', settling down on some sort of long cushion before launching into questions and breaking the static silence. "Exactly." Thorin replied, seemingly thinking the conversation could finally come to a close, but unfortunately, he seemed to be rather unlucky.

"It's like the stories you used to tell me Rín." Nannulf said, turning his earnest blue eyes on her. "The Khuzud will be called from death by Aule when Arda is in her greatest need. Maybe that's why."

Rín blinked in surprise, stunned at the entirely possible conclusion the youngling had come to so quickly. When she looked at Thorin, she could tell by the slight frown that marred his features, that he was considering it seriously. "It might be possible." the dark-haired dwarf murmured, "But why then, were the others not raised? How can this be the time of Arda's greatest need? We have seen dark times before, dark even as these ones."

The dwarrow were silent for a moment as they considered the possibilities. It was Nannulf who broke the silence, when he seemed like he was about to burst from keeping back whatever it was he wished to say. "Do you think," he began hesitantly, "Once you're no longer needed, you'll die again Thorin?"

Rín felt her heart speed up at the thought, her mind suddenly flicking to the worst. Thorin's face quickly became as impassive as it had been when she first found him, "I do not know Nannulf...I do not know..."

* * *

Hesitantly, Skøldjor stepped up behind Cynered on the verandah of a small townhouse, as his friend knocked on the wooden door in front of them. He had reluctantly agreed to visit his baby sister, who had barely seen her sixth year when he had left Roskilde ten years prior, as a lanky fourteen year old.

Thinking back, Sjöfn had always been fragile as a baby, and perhaps it was this fragility that made her so easily loved. The first time he had seen her, a tiny wrinkled ball of red; Skøldjor had immediately been struck by the urge to protect her. And so he had. With Cynered at his side they included her in many a game, especially when her mother (she was only his half sister) would have her mad fits.

Briefly, he wondered what she would look like now. If she would still have the same bright blue eyes and long curling blonde hair, the picture of her mother. He suddenly lost the will to even see her at all. Ten years was a long time, and he had never actually said goodbye - the spitfire Sjöfn had once been would have never forgiven him for that fact.

"Now now Skøldjor," Cynered caterwauled, as he tried to retreat back the way he had come. "The mighty Sachem, afraid of his little sister?"

Skøldjor scowled as a servant suddenly opened the door and ushered them inside. "No." he replied, realising afterwards that he sounded almost petulant. "And how you managed to weasel your way into Sjöfn's good graces remains a puzzle my friend. If I remember correctly, you used to call her 'nosey rabbit' as a particularly biting insult."

Skøldjor watched as Cynered looked at him from the corner of his eyes, "Well, I grew up." he replied cheekily, "Unlike yourself."

A mock-punch to the arm had the servant woman glaring at them in disapproval from a side-door ahead of them. "She will see you now, but you must be quiet. She is too weak for loud noises." With another biting stare, she took off down the hall once more.

Taking a deep breath, Skøldjor stepped through the threshold as Cynered held the door open. His eyes sought out the figure on the bed, her lips were chapped and the skin around her eyes was dark. Her hands, lying on top of the sheets, were so pale they were almost translucent. Sjöfn was not the child he remembered anymore, but she was not the woman she should have been either.

Suddenly, her lids fluttered, and eyes the same shade as his own, opened and looked over at him. "Skøldjor." she croaked, and he swallowed.

"It has been a long time Sjöfn."

* * *

Meska rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame of the door loudly. The sound of heated voices inside continued and grew even louder as the door swung back on its hinges to reveal one of the lesser chieftains (of the Myrrlions by the look of him) who gestured them inside.

A wave of heat washed over Meska as he stepped into the room and looked about. It seemed that he and Djordji, his second in command, were the last to arrive. The other seven tribes all seemed to already be gathered about the room and were talking animatedly to one another - none seated at the round table in the centre of the room but scattered about.

The Haradrim - Hazhir and his second in command were arguing loudly with the Vaidas of the Myrrlions and her companion. The Khandrim were standing as close to the fire as possible, obviously not happy with the cold air the land of the Vajördons seemed to revolve endlessly around. The Dairlanhim Vaidas and her second in command were seated against the wall on the opposite side of the room to the Minhions, casting piercing glances in their direction every couple of minutes.

Meska sighed with the realisation that it seemed that the night's introduction would not be an easy one. Not that it ever was. Tribal feuds never seemed to disappear, instead only growing deeper with time, and generations who were further and further removed from the original conflict.

He smiled politely at the Dairlanhim Vaidas when he passed her, on his way to the center of the room, and his eyes narrowed when he noticed the lack of Sachem and second in command. It was an odd thing, he decided, for the Sachem to be absent from a host city meeting. Skøljin, nomatter how crazy he was, would not have allowed it, it offered too much leeway for the other tribes to consult without him - and none would dare to insult the Vajördon Sachem when he was present.

Absently, Meska tried to recall who was the Second in Command, and who had taken the man's place as temporary-Sachem after his death.

But it had been too long since he had seen the man, and his memories drew a blank.

"Vaidas Meska!" Hazhir called across the room, an unpleasant sneer on his face as his eyes flickered to the Myrrlions he was arguing with "Vaidas Aislara disagrees with my opinion on the fate of those sand-mites who have fled into the West, and those that shelter them now. I believe it is time we take all that is owed to us. We take back the West. What say you?"

The Myrrlion woman turned her chocolate eyes and studied him intently, waiting for his response; and Meska frowned, considering his next words carefully, "I think that perhaps such issues should be decided upon by the Sachem, and as he has not yet been chosen, I will not offer my opinion just at this time."

Aislara laughed, a rich deep sound, "You see Hazhir," she said, her accent thick when she spoke in the common tongue. "Not all share your sentiments."

Whatever the Haradrim was about to reply, he was interrupted by the entrance of another man to the room, "The Sachem has arrived." The Vajördon's voice boomed throughout the room which quickly fell silent, and the man himself entered. Meska's eyes met those of the Sachem, and he inclined his head in respect, although surprised at how young he was - no more than twenty-four summers.

The Vajördon Sachem cast his eyes about the room with eyes that were far older than his years. "My Vaidas, welcome to the Mœta. Let us begin."

* * *

**A/N: Unfortunately a short-ish one today.**

**Just letting you know, that the bit about the Khuzud being raised from the dead was entirely not my idea. Tolkien said it. Bring it up with him. (And this is the moment where everyone realises that my frabjulous idea, was just one that I nicked and attempted to make plausible with reference to the man himself haha).**

**Name Meaning:**

**Sjöfn: Love/Sense**

**Cynered: Royal/Kingly Counsel**

**Aislara: To Seperate/Solitude**

**Muchas gracias to _whatcatydidnext, KingofTruands, Fellowship of Avengers, ladymoonscar, Chilled Souls of the Forgotten, Artemis Faery, Vanafindiel, xBelekinax, Sierra of the Stars, harrylee94, ArkenstoneBeauty, DeadheadDaisy_, and _LadyDunla_. Not to mention of those of you who Followed/Favourited. Many thanks. :)**


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